Limits
by Salazarfalcon
Summary: Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the escalating bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. Enter a certain blue police box. AU off of Grilled Cheesus.
1. A Capella

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Yeah okay, so if you keep up with the Angst Meme, you'll have probably seen this before. My eternal apologies. This is my first foray into Who fic and I wasn't initially going to take this prompt, but in the end I really couldn't resist. Please regard me kindly.<p>

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><p>It was a strange feeling that was becoming more familiar by the day.<p>

Kurt Hummel had finally begun to liken it to the feeling of drowning, if one could drown over the space of several months. It was a constant feeling of being dragged under, inch by critical inch. Every so often, his head broke the surface, just long enough for him to grab a quick and hasty, panicked breath before the fingers around his ankles tightened and pulled.

Burt Hummel had never woken up and had in fact been deceased for exactly three months.

Like Kurt thought every time he woke or made the futile effort to settle down to sleep:

Drowning.

Like the tides and waves along the shore it was also like a push and pull, steadier and more regular than anything else in his life right then.

It shouldn't have been so easy. Every time Child Services began sniffing around, Kurt pleaded and begged in a distant relative and for just a day or a few hours while the officials hung around, Kurt had enough of a family to throw them off. Just enough.

It wouldn't work forever, he knew that.

It wouldn't be too long before they got suspicious again and Aunt Mildred wouldn't be able to make it (the potpourri-scented, alcoholic old bag) or one of the mechanics would realize that his only superior was Kurt and that there were laws against that sort of thing. When that time came, Kurt knew that he wouldn't have a choice but to come up with another plan. He couldn't lose this. He couldn't lose his home and the shade of a life that he'd picked up from the broken pieces left on the floor.

Kurt Hummel had already lost his father and was well on the way to losing himself.

He wouldn't lose his home too.

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><p>"Kurt, you want to stay the night with me?" Mercedes asked, sidling close to bump her friend gently with her shoulder, "Your aunt wouldn't mind, would she?"<p>

Kurt forced a smile and shook his head.

It was the only thing that would ever work.

Icy replies and cold looks would never work on Mercedes, never in a thousand years. She knew him too well and loved him far too much and while someone like Puck or Tina might cringe at such a tactic, she never would. Not before either, but certainly not after the heart monitor had slowed and stilled and Kurt had hurled the entire I.V. at the nurses.

He'd been screaming.

He'd screamed at the doctors for failing him and for failing the only person in the world who'd never failed _him_. He'd screamed at the nurses, the orderlies, the paramedics, the EMT's.

He'd screamed at Mercedes too and had asked her, harshly and with tears slipping down his cheeks, where her God was now. She'd fallen to her knees and wept. He hadn't broken her beliefs, but that hadn't been his purpose. Kurt hadn't _had_ a purpose; his mouth and his eyes had been the only usable gateway for the anger and hurt that had spilled out of him and back into him, a horrible cycle that he hadn't been able to break.

She'd seen him at his worst; spines would never have worked. Easiness, however, was a tactic that Kurt had never used before now and it worked with a vengeance. If Kurt hadn't been standing in a hallway, struggling for breath, he might have felt guilty.

If Kurt Hummel ever felt human again, ever had room for something other than pain, he'd definitely feel guilty.

Mercedes turned away from him then, unsuspecting. Kurt's smile twisted and went bitter as he watched her back, watched her retreat. Retreating from _him_. She probably didn't even know that that was what she was doing but he did. He'd _planned_ it, forced it. God, he loved her but if she knew…

If she knew, Kurt knew that all of those pieces that he'd gathered of his life and clutched to his chest would drop and they'd be smaller than they were even now.

A sudden hand thrust into his vision and shoved.

Kurt's back hit the locker and he imagined that he could feel the numbers being written into his skin, hot and sharp.

"Morning, faggot."

And Kurt drifted.

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><p>The nights were awful.<p>

The physical pain only came in the daytime because no one in the world could be scared off by Burt Hummel anymore and Sue Sylvester couldn't be around all the time, but Kurt much preferred it to the nights, where the shadows were so deep and dark. Sleep was always far away and always restless. Peace never came, only fear and anger and bad dreams where nothing went right. He'd give anything, absolutely anything he owned for a dream in which Burt Hummel had opened his eyes.

Kurt was so tired of being angry.

Sometimes he thought that he hurt so _much_ that he thought that there couldn't possibly be any room left for anger, but it was always there anyway. It was always there, bubbling just underneath the surface, just under his skin, just under _him_ and what was left of Kurt.

But Kurt Hummel always had a backup plan.

Whenever the anger got just a little too potent, he'd reach under his pillow and pull out a jewelry box. It had once held his mother's wedding band long ago but he'd buried that with his father; he'd deserved it much more than Kurt ever had or ever would. Now it held a tiny, unadorned straight razor.

Kurt had never used it on himself, not like most people who had razors did, but he used it in another way. Sometimes he'd just sit there on his bed and run long, shaking fingers over the sides and think. If he hadn't cut into himself yet, that meant that he was still strong enough. Strong enough for what he wasn't sure, but strong enough. As long as he was bearing his fangs to the world around him and not taking them to himself, he could still do it. He was still Kurt.

He still wanted to make the world burn, long and slow and hot, because he didn't know for how much longer he could stand the cold.

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><p>There was really only so much that a person could take on. Kurt knew this, knew it when his body protested the impact of metal. He knew it when the top of the dumpster closed down on him and wouldn't budge when he shoved at it because Karofsky and Azimio were sitting on it. He knew it when he'd finally begun to cry and scream, throwing himself against the walls and pounding his fists on anything he could reach until he bled. Kurt heard them laughing the whole time.<p>

Finally, his vision went white and fuzzy and he sat down, right on top of a bag of day-old banana peels from breakfast and old spaghetti from lunch. Kurt didn't know if he was shaking or if the world was shaking but nothing held still.

When the lid finally lifted (how long had it been, hours or days?) and light poured in, Kurt recoiled from it until hands reached in and hauled him out.

He knew those hands but he didn't trust them, didn't trust any of them, and the moment his feet hit pavement, Kurt was off like a shot. He had more stamina than Will Schuester had ever had and it wasn't hard to outpace him.

He could hear the man shouting at his back, heard the concern and the worry and the fear but Kurt didn't stop. Couldn't stop. If he stopped he'd start shaking again and he couldn't do that. Stopping was bad. Stopping would put him right back in the dumpster again.

He saw red jackets and he cross-hopped away from them. They saw him anyway.

"Look, someone pulled the homo out! I think we need to stick him back where he belongs, don't you think?"

Kurt didn't know who spoke and he didn't care. Their faces had blurred to him by now, all but Karofsky's, whose own burned his brain and whose hands left marks on his shoulders and whose lips might have turned him off of kissing forever.

Kurt Hummel had been a Cheerio and if he'd learned anything from it, it was how to outpace, outthink, and outmean an opponent. He utilized that skill, running even after his pursuers breaths went ragged and hoarse because even if they'd slowed they were still _following._

"How long you gonna run, lady boy?" they taunted and he didn't bother replying. The old Kurt would have tossed back a snappy comeback even if he would never have been stupid enough to stop running. The old Kurt would have a planned route, a destination. The old Kurt would probably have headed to the choir room or to Coach Sylvester's office or _home_.

Problem was, old Kurt had died right along with his father and everything he trusted, and this new Kurt was nothing like him.

New Kurt knew that the only thing that waited for him at home was emptiness and the only things he'd find at school were platitudes and pity, thick and nauseating.

Kurt scanned the street, looking for any place that might be safe enough to hide out in and which might have a back door. The convenience store was out, so were the gas station and the grocery and the local McDonald's. But over _there_, just a little too far away for comfort and nestled up against a fence in an empty lot was a blue, vintage police box that would have been much more at home on an old British movie set.

Kurt didn't know how long it'd been there; he surely would have noticed something like that before now, right? Now that he'd noticed it, it was far too distinctive for anyone with eyes to miss. The footsteps behind him jogged him out of his thoughts, however, and Kurt picked up speed, gunning for the call box.

If he was lucky, he might make it. Kurt hadn't been lucky in a long, long time.

With one last burst of speed, the boy reached the police box. The door was open just the tiniest crack and he wrenched it open to slip inside, slamming the door shut with a resolute thud. Fists pounded on the walls and Kurt sunk to the floor without even looking up to see where he was, back pressed up to the door and his knees folded up to hit his chin.

"What the—who the blazes are you?" A sudden, distinctly British voice asked and Kurt jumped, blue eyes raising up to see… a girl. A blonde hazel-eyed girl was standing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at him as if she'd never seen another human being before. And behind her was… holy shit. There was nothing that he might have expected, no tiny, dingy corners and an old phone or a posted paper with numbers to call.

Instead, coiling branches of what looked like coral held up the domed ceiling and holy hell, it was _massive_. A rounded consol was set in the middle of the room, covered in complicated levers and buttons and blinking lights and connecting up into a glowing tube, and it was absolutely impossible.

"Oi, are you listening to me? How'd you even get in here?"

Oh, the girl was speaking and had kneeled in front of him, trying to peer up into his face. Kurt lowered his head to let his bangs, unstyled and damp with sweat, drift in front of his eyes.

"I opened the door," he muttered.

"But you can't have—I _locked_ it," she insisted.

"Apparently not," Kurt replied faintly, "It was open a crack. I—I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell this is or _how_ the hell this is and if you're going to eat my brain or something –could you not?- I can't really stop you, but can I just sit here for a few minutes until _they_ go away? It shouldn't take long; they're stupid." He didn't look up to see her blink in shock but he did hear her laugh, surprised and boisterous.

"Eat your—I'm not going to eat your brain! A bit morbid, are you?"

"There are people outside who could and would easily kill me and I'm inside a police box that looks like a spaceship. I wouldn't be missed so if you're lying to me and you _are_ going to eat my brain, make it quick."

The girl sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Oh, the Doctor's going to have a fit when he gets a load of this." At her words, Kurt finally chanced a look, hoping that she wouldn't still be staring intently at him. He'd never been lucky and the moment he raised his head, he got a piercing look. "What's that all over your clothes?"

Kurt glanced down at his sleeves and sighed.

"If I'm not wrong, some repulsive mixture of spaghetti and rotten fruit."

The girl cringed.

"Well, this wasn't included in my instructions. _Stay in the TARDIS, Rose. I'll be back in a few hours, Rose. Lock the door, Rose,_" she muttered to herself and Kurt had the distinct impression that she was mocking someone, "Well, I did all those things. Everything else is out of my book." Sighing a bit, she looked him over and for the first time in a long while, Kurt thought about how he must have looked, huddled up in a ball on the floor of what was very likely the spaceship belonging to something (someone?) that ate brains. "Nothing to be done for it now, and I'm certainly not going to throw you back to those brutes outside. Never liked the rude and violent type, myself. Now, before the Doctor gets back and throws his hissy, how about I show you somewhere to get cleaned up a bit? Rotten fruit does nothing to improve your look."

Kurt honestly didn't know what to say in response to that.

For the first time in months he had questions bouncing around in his head. He opened his mouth to speak, fully intending to say that the floor was lovely, thanks, but all that came out was,

"Doctor who? And don't talk about my look when you've got roots showing."

(Fake) Blondie grinned at him.

"If I had ten pence for _every_ time someone asked me that, I'd be as rich as a Sultan, you know?"

Kurt didn't know but he could guess.

"Anyway, he's just the Doctor; best leave it at that. I'm Rose, feel like getting up off the floor?" The girl -Rose, he told himself- rocked to her feet and glanced down at him, extending a hand to him. Kurt just stared at it for a few seconds, wondering about hidden tentacles or claws but finding none. "Hey, I'm human, I promise. And I won't eat you." She waggled her fingers and Kurt finally took her hand, warm and normal underneath his fingers.

"Uh…nice to meet you. I'm Kurt."

Something, whatever this whole _thing_ was, was beginning to catch up with him and Kurt tried desperately not to think about how this was working or why this huge room was inside an old police box. He had a feeling he didn't want to know. He'd try and wash the garbage out of his clothes and hopefully his pursuers would have gotten bored by the time he was done.

Despite Rose's impressions, Kurt wasn't positive that he wanted to stick around long enough to meet this 'Doctor', especially if he was going to be throwing a hissy fit over Kurt's half-falling into his giant box.

By now, Rose had pushed open a door -Lord's hairy balls, it was _bigger_?- and was beckoning him to follow her down a hallway that seemed to go on forever.

"There's a loo just in here," she informed him, pushing open another door that opened into an admittedly marvelous bathroom. "Take your time."

And then the door closed and Kurt was left in there with all the marble and porcelain inside an old call box. For at least two minutes, all he could do was look around and try to get his bearings back, examining the tub and the toilet and the sink, all of it huge and luxurious. Rose had appeared genuinely shocked that he'd been able to enter when, in all actuality, the door had already been open. In retrospect, Kurt wasn't sure why they opened to the inside when they had rather obvious little pull handles on them, but that was neither here nor there. He didn't even know where _he_ was anymore, much less capable of reasoning out why the doors were wrong.

The hallway was quiet and finally, after steadfastly ignoring his reflection in the large mirror, Kurt began to strip off his clothing, nose wrinkling at the smell.

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><p>AN2: Next part coming up soon! Please leave me some feedback if you liked this; I've never so much as breathed in the direction of Doctor Who fic in my life. I take criticism gracefully, I promise. The next chapter will likely be up very soon, as I mostly have to separate my sections and do a final edit on them.<p> 


	2. Fugue

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: The feedback on the last chapter was lovely, thank you so much! I wasn't expecting the sheer amount of alerts and favorites I got on the last chapter. Here's the next section. By the way, the answer to the overwhelming question in the reviews: this starts out with Ninth Doctor.<p>

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><p>Rose knew full well that there was little point in pretending that nothing was wrong when the Doctor bustled back into the TARDIS, a paper sack of donuts in his hand.<p>

"Make sure you wear a coat next time you step out, it's getting a bit nippy—what's going on?" the Doctor had caught onto Rose's mood and the fact that she was sitting on the spinny stool in the corner and going at half the speed she normally would. Rose shifted uncomfortably.

"Before I start, I'd like to make it clear that none of this is my fault. At all. None."

The Doctor's face clouded over and he looked wary.

"Oh no. What have you done?"

"What have I done? That's nice, why did I even bother with the disclaimer?" Rose directed her question towards the ceiling but almost immediately got back to the task at hand, "Anyway, um, someone kind of got in. And before you start, I closed the door. Locked it, even. But apparently, it was open."

The Doctor cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing.

"Where-?" he started and Rose hurried to finish.

"He's in the bathroom. All the other rooms are on safety lock." Biting her lip, she reached out a hand to grip the sleeve of his leather jacket, "Doctor, he's just a kid. A tiny little scrap of a thing and he looks like he hasn't seen any sort of kindness in weeks. The only reason he even tried to get in was because he was being chased, by a whole herd of boys twice his size, and he was covered in old food. You wouldn't have been able to—" She was cut off by a hand reaching forward to settle over her lips.

The look on the Doctor's face was exasperated but there was a hint of something that looked like amusement as well.

"Rose, the TARDIS is… well, she's more complicated than she seems. Half the time, I don't get how she works. So if you did lock the doors –I believe you, don't look at me like that!- and she opened them for him, then there's nothing you could have done. I do believe, however, that I want to get a look at this… guest." The Doctor ran a hand over his hair, short and cropped close to his head, "I'm not heartless; I'm not going to… well I don't know, eat him or something. You humans are so _imaginative_."

Rose couldn't hold back the undignified snort.

"Don't tell him that, it took me forever to convince him that I wasn't going to eat his brains."

"Brain-eating, really? No decent creature eats _brains_, do you have any idea of the kinds of diseases that can be transmitted through brain tissue? Repulsive," The Doctor huffed and without waiting for further information, began to make his way towards the bathroom. He knocked and then completely negated the action by going ahead to yank the door open anyway without waiting for a response.

He stopped and Rose bumped into his back.

Kurt was stripped down to his boxers and was leaning back on the floor against the tub, completely asleep. His clothing had been draped over the shower bar, washed and rinsed and hung up to dry. The Doctor just raised an eyebrow.

"You picked a hell of a guest, didn't you?" he asked, snickering at Rose's indignant declaration to the contrary behind him. "Skinny little thing, isn't he? You'd think someone who wears Gucci would eat a bit more. That's humans for you, though." Shaking his head, the Doctor approached the sleeping boy, his eyes taking in the pale skin, the circles around his eyes, and the dark, angry bruises that mottled his skin in various states of healing. The bruises would certainly explain the need for a t-shirt, a turtleneck, and a thigh-length coat. His face darkened and he knelt down, reaching out a hand to tap Kurt on the shoulder. No response.

"Doctor?" Rose asked behind him, "Is he okay? He didn't pass out, did he?" Her voice was worried.

The Doctor shook his head.

"As far as I can tell, he's just sleeping."

"We can at least move him to a sofa or something."

"We're not keeping him, Rose."

She scowled at him.

"Did I say anything?"

He smiled at her in response.

"You don't need to; it's written all over your face. Rein in your heartstrings; I can feel you emoting all over the place."

"Still, we can at least let him sleep somewhere that isn't the floor of a bathroom. Then when he wakes up, we can send him on his way," Rose said insistently, coming around him to settle on her haunches in front of Kurt, peering at his face. "He's so _little_." The Doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, alright. If you can find a blasted sofa, I'll stick him on it until he wakes up."

"There's a sofa in the movie room," Rose called behind her as she exited the bathroom and then it was just Kurt and the Doctor, who spent just a little bit longer looking over him than he needed to.

"Pffft, movie room. Never needed a movie room before I lost my mind and decided to go picking up girls again." He scoffed a little bit and leaned forward, slipping one hand under Kurt's knees and bracing his back with the other to lift him up off the floor. "Too light, kid; you need the chips more than Rose does."

The movie room looked like its name: one very long sofa stretched across the length of the entire back wall, while the wall directly in front had one very large flatscreen. Rose had already dragged out a blanket from somewhere and added some pillows that the Doctor suspected had come from her own bedroom. When he entered, she looked up expectantly and gestured for him to set the boy down.

Kurt didn't move the entire time; not when he was laid down onto the cushions and not when the Doctor tugged the blanket up around his chin and not when Rose reached out to brush his bangs away from his face.

Rose walked out to see if any of Kurt's clothes could get tossed in the dryer.

The Doctor settled down to wait.

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><p>The first thing that Kurt noticed was that he couldn't possibly be in a bathroom anymore.<p>

The second thing that Kurt noticed was that his brain didn't feel like it was trying to swim through pudding.

The third thing that Kurt noticed was that he was being loomed over by an unfamiliar man. He promptly squeaked, flailed, and fell off the couch. A hand reached out to tap him on the forehead, and the strange man with the large ears in the leather jacket said, all too conversationally,

"Careful, kid. Don't want to damage your delicious brain, do we?"

Kurt paled and flinched, only to have the stranger burst out laughing, deep and rumbling.

"Oh wow, that actually worked. Rose was right, you _are_ a jumpy one, aren't you?"

"…are you the Doctor?" Kurt asked warily, looking the man up and down from his leather shoes to his leather jacket. Seconds later, he realized that yeah, he was only in his boxers and that was kind of completely embarrassing.

"In one," the Doctor replied, watching Kurt scramble back up onto the couch and bring the blanket protectively up to his shoulders, "And I'd like to ask you a few things, mostly about those bruises and how you managed to get yourself into my TARDIS."

Kurt didn't think that anything could have stopped him quicker than the realization that strangers had seen his locker marks and handprints, but apparently there was.

"Your tardis?"

"TARDIS," the Doctor corrected as if he could tell that Kurt was thinking about it incorrectly, "Time And Relative Dimension In Space. Also known as the place we're currently residing."

"Hell of a police box, isn't it?"

"Chameleon circuit, actually. It's supposed to adjust its appearance to the area and time period –yes, time period- but it got stuck as a police box a long time ago. Luckily, humans can be incredibly unobservant and don't tend to notice it. It's best to not think about it too hard."

Kurt's eyes boggled and he stared at the Doctor. His brain had gotten stuck on the words _time period_, and combined with the implication that it didn't just sit there, and oh shit this was totally a time machine. He was stuck in a time machine with a guy who knew how to work that time machine and who only went by Doctor.

"I…I need to go. I mean—yeah. Go. I'll just go. I didn't mean to intrude, I just—I just didn't want to get my face decked in again and the door really was just open so don't be mad at Rose or anything, I didn't try to break in or anything—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," the Doctor interrupted, visibly picking though his ramble, "In case you haven't noticed, people generally don't go walking around in winter in their skivvies." Kurt flushed unhappily, drawing the blanket just a little tighter to him. "For the other matter—"

He was interrupted when the door opened and Rose poked her head in, her blonde hair pulled up out of her face.

"Doctor, did you know that your magic dryer even works on—oh hey, he's awake. How're you feeling? Your clothes are dry and wear-ready again. I left them in the bathroom, the door's still open-"

"F-fine, thanks," Kurt avoided the Doctor's gaze as he got up, "Really, I'll just get dressed and be out of your hair. Thanks for letting me use your bathroom!" And then he was pushing past Rose and darting into the bathroom, shutting the door with a resolute snap.

"Someone's in a hurry," she commented, eyeing the Doctor's scowl, "I reckon he'll be scared away from any sort of phone booth for the rest of his life after this. Did he say anything about…" she gestured silently to her shoulders and lower neck and the Doctor shook his head.

"No, but that doesn't mean I didn't learn anything. In fact…" he trailed off briefly, "I think he told me quite a bit without saying a thing. Don't badger him, just… if you could, go see him out and make sure he doesn't try and push any buttons."

Rose cocked her head.

"Where are we headed after this?"

"Actually, I think I'd like to stick around for a little bit. There's something I'd like to sort out."

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><p>In retrospect, it must have been some sort of stress-induced hallucination because there was no way that he'd actually been inside a time machine, though he would swear on about anything that his clothing should under no circumstances be so clean considering where it had been. Who would even design a time machine to look like that anyway, all curving coral spires and giant bathrooms and really, really comfortable couches?<p>

Kurt shook his head.

It had been a letdown to return to his house despite his relief at still possessing his brain. Three months and he still had that tiny, tiny glitter of hope that when he opened the door he'd realize that it been a dream. A dream or a really long nightmare. That he'd been clonked on the head a few too many times from a few too many dumpster tosses. That he'd fallen off a riser during glee or screwed up the choreography enough that someone completely knocked him out.

He hoped, every single time, that he'd open the door and the lights would be on because it was still a home and he didn't have to have a panic attack every time the electric bill came and his father would be there. He'd still have to make dinner because neither of them had ever trusted Burt Hummel's cooking, but they'd speak easily with one another and maybe Kurt would tease him about Carole. Maybe Burt would try and make a joke about Kurt and boys that would have them both embarrassed and flushing awkwardly, and Kurt would shake a spoon at him.

Never again.

Christmas would never happen again, and Kurt was all-too aware of what spending the day alone felt like. Thanksgiving, too; he hadn't had the motivation to cook and had instead made up a few relatives to visit whenever anyone asked him. They'd never celebrate one another's birthdays together, they'd never set off fireworks in the backyard against all the neighborhood codes again. They'd never go visit his mother together again.

Never, ever again.

Those things would never happen again and Kurt cursed himself for not taking advantage of them before, for not appreciating it more. He wished that he'd been less embarrassed and more grateful that he was loved enough that someone as town-raised and blue collar as his father tried so hard. Kurt wished that he'd tried harder to prevent the nasty phone calls, to hide the stains better, to hide the bruises just a little better because a bad diet wasn't the only thing that could cause a heart attack.

If Kurt had known that the last time he'd see his father alive and himself would be when he stormed off, angry and frustrated, he'd have changed it.

If Kurt had known that the last thing his father would say to him was that he was disappointed in him… well. He'd have gone to the ends of the earth to change it.

Every time, though, that tiny hope inside him always withered and died.

Sighing and closing his eyes, Kurt unconsciously fingered the little velvet box underneath his pillow and wished that that hope would stop growing back because it hurt more and more every time.

He wouldn't think anymore about time machines that looked like police boxes or weird people that lived in them and men in jackets who looked like they knew more than he'd ever said or would ever say. He just wouldn't because he was sick of hope and couldn't handle any more of it when so far it had been his lot to have it all ripped away in the end.

Stubbornly, Kurt closed his eyes and ignored the knowledge that the door to the master bedroom had been shut tight for three months and that eventually, he'd have to do something about it. He hadn't had the nerve to do it yet and he knew that once he did, that would make everything final. In fact, he'd barely even been upstairs, generally limiting himself to his basement bedroom and the kitchen.

"No," he told himself firmly, "No. No. No. You're going to go to sleep and pretend that today never happened. At all." He whuffed into his pillow. "You're losing it, Kurt. Completely losing it."

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><p>He was so tempted to skip glee practice. So tempted.<p>

It felt like forever since he'd last had the desire to sing, much less go along with the weekly theme of 'joy' that Schuester had pulled out of his rabbit hat. To be honest, if it weren't for the fact that he'd likely be waylaid by his worried friends every hour of the day, he'd probably have stopped going a month ago.

"And what are you planning on singing this week, Kurt?"

God, if Rachel Berry was actually asking him something like that after all her hullabaloo the past year about solos, there really must be something wrong with the world. If old Kurt had felt the way he did, he'd probably have ripped her head off. New Kurt had a different plan. With a cock of his head, Kurt flashed her a strained smile, just enough to get her to smile back at him. If she was smiling, she wouldn't be so worried, and he'd likely avoid questions.

"I'm not," he replied steadily, "I couldn't come up with anything." That was a lie, he hadn't even thought about it. "You can take my turn."

And that was all it took for Rachel to beam at him, bright as the sun, and bounce away to her seat. Already she was practically wriggling in pride and happiness and Kurt supposed that at least he'd given her some form of good cheer even if it had been a lie. Kurt settled back in his seat and watched the performances, meeting Mr. Schue's eyes steadily, half-daring him to say anything about yesterday, about hauling him out of the dumpster and chasing him down.

Knowing the man, he'd ask Kurt to stay after club to try and talk to him.

Kurt didn't want to talk. Frankly, if he hadn't been forced to _think_, he probably wouldn't be doing much of that either. Fat chance was he going to sit through an interrogation that would only make him feel worse from the man who watched him be bullied mercilessly since the first day of high school and who never even tried.

William Schuester could have tried every single day for the last two and some years to stop it, and he chose now to be concerned?

Like hell.

Blue eyes narrowed, and Schuester looked away.

* * *

><p>True to his intentions, Kurt was the first out the door when club was over and he feigned deafness to the voice calling his name. Mercedes walked with him for a bit but stopped at her locker. Normally he would have stopped with her.<p>

He didn't and headed instead for the main doors, flinging them open and beginning the walk to the parking lot.

He almost walked past her.

…Almost.

The boy whirled and faced the girl leaning up against the school wall with her arms folded expectantly over her chest. She waggled her fingers at him. Kurt gaped.

"What the—Rose?"

"Hello," she greeted, "Dreary lookin' school, isn't it? Looks like a prison."

Kurt couldn't help making a face.

"Trust me, you have no idea," he muttered, then shook his head as if physically shaking himself out of his distraction. "Wait a second, what are you even doing here? I totally imagined you. No doctors, no time machines, no weirdos who live in them—"

"_Who's _a weirdo? Certainly not me."

"Just a—I don't know, a sleep-deprived, drug-free dug dream."

Rose just watched him, an oddly tolerant and irritatingly amused look on her face. Kurt scowled at her.

"_What?_"

"Oh, nothing," she said lightly, "Just kind of impressed. I had to be told that the TARDIS was a time machine. You just got it like that. Though you're definitely sleep-deprived if you slept through the Doctor carrying you through the TARDIS like a wee babe."

"Oh god, it's a time machine," the boy groaned softly, raking a hand roughly through his hair, "I'm either crazy, or I wish I was crazy. I don't know what's worse." A hand reached out and patted his shoulder, a gentler touch than he'd had in… well, a long time. He didn't know how, but somehow she avoided the bruises perfectly.

"You're not crazy," Rose told him firmly, "It's a bit much to take in all at once, but you're definitely not—oh, that person's waving at you. …and now they're running at you."

Kurt jerked his head up just in time to be nearly run into by one Finn Hudson, huffing and out of breath.

"Dude, didn't you hear Mr. Schue calling for you?"

The only thing that worked with Mercedes were smiles. For Finn…well. Kurt was terrible but improving at faking smiles. Bitchface was what came naturally. Drawing in a breath that sounded louder in his head, Kurt straightened up and jutted his jaw, tilting his head in such a way that despite being at least a foot shorter, Kurt was staring up at Finn like he towered over him.

"I don't care if he was calling out the winning lottery numbers, he can kiss my—"

"Oh, look at the time," Rose interrupted, reaching out and grabbing Kurt by the hand, "Don't you have to help me with my terrible roots? Come on, Kurt, let's go, let's go, _we walk by moving our feet, thank you…_" And just like that, she'd tugged him through the school gates and out of Finn's view. As quickly as they'd started off, Kurt dug his heels in and yanked his hand away, backing up a few steps and watching Rose warily.

"I appreciate you getting me out of that, but what are you even doing here?" he asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice and not really wanting to. "If you're stalking me, you're in for a boring time of it."

The girl sputtered indignantly at him and Kurt shrugged, turning on a heel and beginning the walk to his car again, fully intending to take the back way. It was an obvious dismissal but Rose ignored it in favor of hurrying after him, steps matching up easily with his.

"I'm not stalking you, I promise," she said persistently, "Just…curious."

Kurt raised a disbelieving eyebrow and she shook her head, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Let me try again, okay? That sounded less weird in my head. Let's just say that for one, anyone noticing the TARDIS is something very, very unusual. For another, someone being able to actually get in is almost unheard of. Did you know that Genghis Khan tried to get in and couldn't? I wasn't there for that one but I'll believe it."

Kurt wanted to tell her that it seemed that she was prone to believe a _lot_ of things, but soon remembered that he'd actually woken up in the blasted thing and if she was crazy, he had to be as well. If he could manage to fall into a time machine, it shouldn't be that far off to imagine the Mongol hordes trying to beat it to smithereens with axes and arrows.

"So where are you going?" Rose asked.

"To my car."

"Then where?"

"My house," Kurt snapped, "What's with the interrogation?" He would have continued, but the second he caught sight of his car he also caught sight of a flash of red heading _towards_ his car. A very familiar flash of red. "Hell."

"Friends of yours?"

"And thus the very definition of antonym," Kurt muttered lowly, "So much for that plan."

"…Ah," was all Rose said in response, staring intently at the jocks lurking around the black SUV before switching her gaze back to Kurt, "Want me to rough them up for you? I've been told that I'm a pretty good shot with a lead pipe and a bottle of vinegar." Kurt stared at her in horror and confusion, and the girl shook her head. "I kid, Slitheen humor."

"Ugh. At least my house isn't far. I'll get my car later."

"Your house? Not home?" The girl's tone was far too measured and delicate to be accidental and Kurt shot her a sharp, piercing glance.

"Stop it," he said, "Just…stop. I don't know what you're doing. I don't really want to know. I just want…" Kurt froze, catching the look in wide, hazel eyes that said that Rose was _very_ interested in knowing what he wanted. His breath caught when the image came, unbidden into the forefront of his mind, of what exactly he wanted.

A house that wasn't empty, someone who could take some of the weight away, someone that could let him feel again.

"Yes? What do you want?" Rose inquired gently.

The few leaves that hadn't been blown away by the brisk wind crunched under their feet and Kurt noticed idly that he could see his breath in the air. When had it turned into winter?

"Nothing. Just leave it."

The subject was dropped and they walked in silence, Kurt keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched, Rose walking tall and making sure to step in all the extra crunchy leaves. He'd given up on losing her and she was determined to ignore the signals that really, he'd like to go the rest of the way by himself.

"I've seen the end of the world. It was the first place the Doctor and I went after we left London," Rose spoke up suddenly, hands folded behind her back.

"Fire or ice?" Kurt asked in reply, eyes shuttered.

"Robert Frost, very nice," the girl parried, "Which do you favor?"

_Burn_, Kurt couldn't help but think, watching the naked tree limbs and the few people out walking. He recognized a few of them from his classes or the hallways. Could he really stand an eternity of cold? Could anyone?

"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire," the boy quoted, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

Rose smiled thinly at him and he was suddenly reminded of his own not-happy-at-all smiles.

"You'd be right, then," she said, voice as dry and crisp as the leaves. "I watched the world burn."

The rest of the walk was silent.

Kurt stopped short when the two of them reached his driveway.

"Well, this is my house. Thanks for, uh, walking me back or whatever your job was to do." Kurt didn't wait for a response before he was walking up the steps, and if he hadn't been listening, he might not have heard it.

"Why do you assume that this was a job? Is it impossible for someone to care or be interested?"

At that, Kurt couldn't resist turning to look her in the eyes, smiling even though that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"For me? Yeah, it's impossible. People don't care about people like me, not here. Probably not anywhere. Aside from that? Your Doctor boyfriend was _interested_, and interested people ask questions. You're just really obvious about it." And he dashed up the rest of the day, slipping in through the door and locking it with a snap.

He completely missed the annoyed,

"Why does _everyone_ in the entire time continuum assume he's my thrice-damned boyfriend?"

* * *

><p>AN2: Please leave a review if you enjoyed this, or even if you want to bludgeon me to death with a rake; every little bit of feedback is precious to a writer. Thank you!<p> 


	3. Rubato

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you so, so much for all your reviews, alerts, and favorites. I really wasn't expecting the response, and I really appreciate it! –beams-<p>

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><p>Kurt had a routine.<p>

It wasn't a good routine, it wasn't even a remotely pleasant routine, but it worked. Sort of. It worked about as well as anything else did, which really meant that it didn't work well at all. It all started with bed.

Kurt always started with bed at eleven, laying awake until exactly 1:30 he'd then give up and get up again. From 1:30 until about 4:00, he'd pace and walk the house. It was the only time lately that he could bring himself to even set foot upstairs, walking past that closed bedroom door over and over and over again. He'd pass it countless times in a single night and every time, it was like having a splash of salt water thrown into a cut.

Forget being opened, that door hadn't even been touched.

He could barely look at it.

After his brain was fuzzy and dazed, he'd finally go back down to the basement and collapse into bed. Sometimes he wouldn't even bother getting back underneath the blankets even though his bedroom was always cold and it was January.

Tonight was different.

About halfway through his walking routine, Kurt stopped short and went to grab his coat off the rack, pulling it on over his pajamas. He yanked on his boots too and made sure that he had his keys before stepping out of his house into the blustery winter morning.

For once, not a single soul walked the streets. No one swept their driveways, no one threw snow, no one spoke or laughed and for just a little bit it was like no one else existed. It was quiet and Kurt could finally just stop _thinking_. There weren't any bills out here, no taxes to worry about. No loneliness, no isolation, no distance because he _chose_ it this time.

Kurt didn't realize where he was walking until he noticed the dark, rectangular shape nestled up against the line of fencing. That box was still there, tall and sharp and oddly imposing in its obscurity, and Kurt started walking faster to get away from it.

How did everyone just miss it?

Was there something wrong with him that made him notice the damned thing?

"You know, last I checked people generally were sleeping around this time."

Kurt's heart leapt into his throat and he sidestepped. Unfortunately, he sidestepped in the wrong direction and nearly ran headlong into the Doctor, who reached out a hand to steady him.

"Whoa, easy there. It's just me."

"And you wonder why I'm worried?" Kurt tossed back with a snort, noting with intense suspicion that the Doctor had apparently decided that now would be a good time to walk with him. "Could you not? It's kind of creepy."

"Why were those boys after you yesterday?" The Doctor asked bluntly, "And Rose told me that they tried to waylay you again this afternoon."

"Mind your own business."

"Yeah, that's kind of a problem. You see, I'm known for being a tad nosy. It's your own fault for running out on our discussion earlier."

"More like ear-sy," the boy muttered under his breath.

"Oi, no ear jokes from you! You'll not emulate Jackie Tyler, thank you very much. The world has enough of those."

Kurt glared at him.

"You'd think it'd be obvious enough, wouldn't you? My face, my clothes, my voice, my sexuality? No one ever needed an excuse to hate before but there's always one when it comes to me. What's yours?" he asked, kicking a snowdrift. For a good thirty seconds, the Doctor said nothing, choosing instead to look over his rather unwilling and reluctant walking accomplice. Kurt shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and finally looked away.

"I don't know about other people, but I know that I generally need a reason to hate someone. Sorry kid, you don't quite qualify."

A laugh forced its way from Kurt's throat, bitter and breathy and for just a second, it threatened to turn into a sob instead.

He held it back and stayed silent.

"_You've_ got enough resentment for someone with three lifetimes, though. What's Lady Fate ever done to you?" the Doctor asked, and Kurt's vision swam and blurred.

_Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad. I need you, where are you? Where'd you go? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave me here by myself, you're the only one I've got. Please, please, please. I'll do anything, be better than anything, be perfect forever if you don't leave me here alone in the dark._

Kurt stopped walking and lowered his head, hands clenching uselessly in the fabric of his pajama pants. The Doctor stopped with him and waited.

"Oh yeah, I'll tell you something I think you'll understand," the words came, trembling and the melody shaky and painfully familiar, "When I say that something, I want to hold your hand… I want to hold your hand, I want to hold your hand." Kurt hadn't sung a note for three months and it felt stranger than strange to do so now, much less in front of the guy in the leather jacket who couldn't seem to find his way out of Kurt's life. He couldn't finish the first lyric before his lower lip began to tremble and he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

The Doctor simply watched him, an unreadable and completely indecipherable expression on his face.

"And w-when I touch you, I feel happy inside…" Kurt's voice broke off completely and the words were replaced by furious, tearless sobs that he cut back with everything he had and just couldn't because he could never touch Burt Hummel again and he didn't remember what being happy felt like. He didn't want this. He didn't even know why he was still here or why he didn't just leave or why he'd even left his house in the first place.

He thought of that little velvet box and realized, for a very short moment, that it was a _very_ good thing that he had left his house because his mind had suddenly jumped to ledges and edges, sharp edges that sliced and cut and might let some of the grief out if he could just find the nerve.

And then there was a hand, reaching out and slipping around his own.

It was an unfamiliar hand, calloused and big, but it was strong and it squeezed and Kurt couldn't help clinging to it with everything he had, squeezing back with a ferocity that he didn't know he still possessed. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe; the only thing he seemed to be able to make himself do was hold on tightly to that hand. A part of him thought of Mercedes and the comfort she still sought to offer that he couldn't accept and he felt so ashamed of himself.

Kurt wanted to slap it away.

He couldn't.

"Come on," he heard a voice, deep and close to his ear, "I'll walk you home."

He didn't protest.

* * *

><p>The box had moved.<p>

It was bad enough when he had to pass it on the way to school, but taking up shop next to his house? That was a step too far and Kurt was not a fan.

At all.

He only barely remembered walking home and in fact _didn't_ remember unlocking the door when he knew that he'd locked it when he left. He didn't remember getting back into bed but he definitely woke up there. In fact, school was already over by the time he woke up and he'd more than missed Glee club and he sort of didn't care. He had eight missed calls from his friends and ten texts asking where he was but he didn't reply to any of them outside of confirming his own life signs.

It had gotten to the point that that would be enough and Kurt didn't know which was worse: that it was enough or that he was relatively okay with it.

As okay as anything got, anyway.

The house was always so quiet.

Sitting on the couch in the living room, Kurt glanced out the window.

The sun shone bright on the show outside, and the skies were a pleasant purple-grey. That stupid box was just out of sight but he knew exactly where it was anyway.

It was five in the afternoon and Kurt got up off of the couch to head back down to the basement to crawl into bed and try to go back to sleep.

* * *

><p>"Good morning!" Rose greeted Kurt the next morning when he opened his door.<p>

"…oh god."

Kurt had almost expected it. Almost.

"I brought you your paper," the older girl informed him, shaking it in his general direction. Kurt took it gingerly and then peered around her, narrowing his eyes at the Doctor.

"And you, Doctor?"

"I don't need an excuse; I'm just nosy."

"Ear-sy," Kurt mumbled, covering the words up with a badly done actor's cough and garnering a scowl from the jacketed man.

"You're also a skinny little slip of a child so be grateful, I brought breakfast," the Doctor said, tossing a bag up and down in his palm. Now that Kurt noticed, Rose was holding a box and a drink caddy. "Mind being a good host?"

"I have school."

"That starts in five minutes," the Doctor said dryly.

"I could make it."

"Four stop lights, a traffic accident, and a full parking lot say you can't."

Rolling her eyes, Rose shouldered the Doctor out of the way and, ignoring his protests, took the bag out of his hands before he threatened to drop it. Kurt noted that despite the fact that he towered over her and didn't have to let her do much of anything, the man just rolled with it as if he knew to pick his battles. In retrospect, he probably did if he lived in a time machine spaceship who-the-hell-even-knew-anymore with her.

Kurt sighed and backed away from the door, reluctantly opening it wider to allow them entry.

"Fine. Come in, then. The kitchen's this way, please don't touch anything."

Kurt stared steadily ahead as he led Rose and the Doctor through his house, missing the significant look the two exchanged, missing the Doctor take note of the living room and the hallway, missing his eyes narrow in epiphany.

It was weird to have people inside the house when it seemed like he'd been alone forever and Kurt wondered idly when it had become his normal and when it had gotten so _easy_. It was easy now, in the daylight but it was never easy at night, never ever. Being around people felt strange now, even though the Doctor and Rose were the farthest from normal people he'd ever met in his life.

"I didn't know if you were a coffee or tea kind of guy, but I figured you could use some sweetening," Rose informed him dryly as she pushed the mocha across the table towards Kurt, who poured it out into a mug and was surprised to find it damn near perfect. She was noticeably less talkative this morning and Kurt couldn't help feeling just a touch of nerves because she was focused, watching him intently over her own tea.

This was weird as hell.

"What are you even doing here?" Kurt asked, finishing off his coffee. "Surely there are more interesting times and places to be than Lima, Ohio."

"Well," Rose began, snagging a pastry out of the bag and popping it into her mouth, "We were aiming for Peru. It kind of didn't work—"

"I'm here to keep you from dying," the Doctor interrupted, conversationally as if he hadn't just dropped a verbal nuke. Kurt froze and Rose choked out a ragged, coughing breath.

"_What_?"

"You don't deny it? It started as an accident, but you made it into my TARDIS for a reason. Something in your life is causing you pain and whenever you're hurt, you think of something else that makes it better. There's not a single soul in this big empty house that can do that for you, so what's your safety net? A knife, a bottle of pills? Daddy's pistol?"

Without a word of warning, Kurt flung his hand back and hurled his empty mug at him; it broke against the wall and scatted coffee drops on the walls. It was a bad throw and missed completely. Rose squeaked and ducked, wide-eyed. The Doctor merely settled down into his seat and scrutinized the boy in front of him who'd begun to shake and shiver like a leaf in the breeze.

"Don't... don't talk about-!"

"You're standing on a ledge, boy, and you know it. It's easy for stupid people; they hurt and delude themselves enough until eventually it all gets better. Smart people know better. You…no, you're definitely a smart one. You know exactly where you are and where that edge is and smart people _plan_. So what is it?"

Gone was the mocking joker of a man who teased him and Rose indiscriminately and had reached out and taken Kurt's hand those nights back, replaced with someone dark and all-too serious who was looking at Kurt in the eyes like he _knew_ him. The terrifying thing was that the part of Kurt's brain that wasn't currently seething with rage wasn't entirely positive that he didn't.

"Answer me this, then."

The Doctor's voice was ice and steel and Kurt couldn't control the trembling that ran up his spine.

"You're a child by every even remotely humanoid race's standards, so why is this house empty? There's one car, presumably yours. Nothing here looks like it's been touched and yet everything's clinically clean. You're tormented by your classmates but there's no one who does anything about it." The Doctor paused. "There are photos on the shelves but every single one's turned face down as if you can't even stand to look at them."

Kurt shoved away from the table, lurching to his feet.

"G-get out!" he snarled, pale and half-wordless with fury, "Get out, get out, _get out_!" Steadily, his voice began to rise.

"What part of 'keep you from dying' did you miss the first time?" The Doctor asked dryly with a single, raised eyebrow. "I did say that you were smart, don't make me take it back."

Too much.

Blue eyes blazing and cold, Kurt stormed out of the room, subconsciously heading for the upstairs. Almost immediately, Rose was darting after him. She didn't touch him and he knew she was saying something but a thousand wasps were buzzing inside Kurt's brain, drowning out everything but his own heartbeat.

The Doctor –damned knowing, fearless stalker of a time traveler- had followed at a more sedate pace as if knowing that Kurt had nowhere to go.

"Someone's left you. Who is it?"

That he heard and something inside him snapped with a crack. Kurt whirled and approached the Doctor, unhesitatingly reaching out and tangling his hands in the lapels of his jacket.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he hissed.

The Doctor raised a brow and forcibly removed Kurt's hands, restraining them in one of his own by the wrists.

"_I_ am a Time Lord and _you_ are on the precipice of a complete breakdown of mind and self," he growled, low and deep and sounding truly angry and frustrated for the first time.

"Oh, and you know this for a fact?" Kurt retorted, trying futilely to take his hands back. And then without warning, he was released but a hand had reached out to grip his chin firmly as one would someone very small.

"You have no idea what you look like to someone who _knows_, do you?" The Doctor's voice was low and deceptively soft, "I can see it all right here, written in your eyes: grief, loneliness…and rage. You're so angry and hurt and you've kept yourself from hitting the ground for so long…but you're so close to it right now." He paused and looked up and down the hallway, settling on the closed door right next to them. Kurt followed his gaze then stubbornly looked away from it. "And right now, I think that everything is banking on _this door_ being closed."

Without ado, the Doctor reached out and flung it open.

Kurt _felt_ it open as much as he saw it and felt just like he'd stepped outside, cold and frosty and _lonely_. He could see inside, see the familiar surfaces coated with dust. He saw the bed, unmade and rumpled, the chest of drawers with one half open. His father's spare boots sat next to the bed because that was where Kurt had always put them when he tripped over them in the hall. He could smell it too, engine oil and Irish Spring and a scent that he recognized intimately as belonging to Burt Hummel.

He saw his mother's dresser.

That was it.

Recoiling as if he'd been hit, Kurt backed away to slump against the wall and sink to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

"Close it," he whispered. His voice shook as if whatever decided such things had deemed him unworthy of even that dignity. "Close it, close it, close it, close it, close it, _close it now_," Steadily his voice rose but the door stayed open. "Please close it now, don't let it out, don't let it go away…"

Someone was speaking, telling him to calm down and breathe, but Kurt couldn't obey it because all he could see was that open door and the only untainted pieces he had of his father were escaping and he'd never get them back. Panicked, angry tears were beginning to slip down his cheeks and there were hands on his shoulders, hands small and soft and strong and all Kurt could do was ride it out, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"A parent…" the Doctor murmured, peering inside and letting Rose kneel down and flutter for the time being, "Your father." His voice had softened. "How long ago?"

_Forever. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, gone forever and ever and ever._

"Three months," Kurt finally gasped out and wondered when his face had gotten nestled up against Rose's shoulder.

He didn't see the Doctor look around at the untouched space that Kurt had tried so hard to preserve, the photos that hadn't been pushed down or hidden and the tasteful, understated memorial to Mrs. Hummel that was set up on the dresser. The door stayed open and Kurt scrunched his eyes closed because it was leaving, all of it was leaving and it was never coming back.

The next thing Kurt knew, there was a low murmur over his head and he was being handed off to someone else who enfolded him in a sturdy grip. He felt leather against his cheek and a broad chest that only reminded him of the hugs he'd never get again, and Kurt shuddered and curled in on himself.

Long, pale hands clenched in that jacket again and this time no one stopped him.

"You've been alone," the Doctor muttered as if realizing it for the first time, horrified and unsurprised and sad, "All this time you've been alone. You're so _young_, so young…"

And then a newly familiar, soothing presence settled down behind Kurt and Rose Tyler curled herself around them both, running a hand through Kurt's hair and coiling the other into the Doctor's collar in an offer of comfort to him as well.

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><p>AN2: And there we go! Some emotional demolition~ Please leave a review if you enjoyed this, or even if you'd prefer to tar and feather me for it. As always, I am very graceful with criticism.<p> 


	4. Operetta

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you so much for all of your reviews! It really fills me with joy not just to get them, but to see the same people reviewing because it really means that you're enjoying this. Please keep reading!<p>

I'm sorry, this is also shorter than usual. If you've been paying attention, you'll know that I have quite a bit more of this written than I have posted on either here or the Angst Meme, mostly because I don't want to risk losing motivation. This also gives me the advantage of being able to post faster and/or regularly.

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><p>Kurt felt sort of like he was floating. Not the fun floating where you felt like a balloon wafting about through the summer sky, but more like one of those diving torpedoes that got tossed in the pool, that were supposed to sink but never did it properly.<p>

He sort of remembered being lifted to his feet and the smell of oil; in retrospect he'd been so dazed that he was surprised that he'd even known his own name at the time.

He remembered being hefted into the living room and sitting down on the couch and there'd been a hand running through his hair that had to have been Rose because the Doctor hugged and held hands but hair carding was something that Kurt associated almost solely with girls. That association held in this case as well. He remembered the Doctor pacing up and down the length of the living room in agitation and he remembered the man kneeling down in front of him, still serious and grim.

He remembered the question, word for word.

"Would you like to leave this place?"

Rose's eyebrows had shot into her hairline.

Kurt remembered his own answer that had come quickly and without hesitation.

"_Yes._"

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><p>Packing was easier with a willing accomplice, even though the Doctor stood in the doorway and sighed heavily as if deeply burdened by the idea of one more person who actually needed to bring things along with them. It was enough to bring his clothes and a few personal things; the lovely birdcage chair would have to stay behind, as would almost everything else in the house. The red rimming Kurt's eyes and settling high on his cheeks had gone unsaid and the sight of Rose staring spellbound into his closet was one that Kurt would remember forever, even longer than he would remember the feeling of removing every article of clothing that he owned. Stacks of pants, shirts, scarves and shoes and more shoes and accessories and so many bow ties were removed from the closet and from his drawers and Rose asked him more than once how in God's name he actually got into those pants and was that a <em>corset<em>?

"_Shut up, bad roots. Sam takes better care of his hair than you and I swear he uses lemon juice on it."_

"_Oi! Are you going to rip on my hair the whole time?"_

"_No, just until I _fix_ it. And I will."_

The Doctor snorted and Rose had glared at him, mouthing 'baldy' under her breath.

Now he stood for the first time in months in the master bedroom, staring at his mother's dresser. He knelt down and opened the drawers for what he was going to consider the last time, tucking his head in and breathing deeply. The perfume scent was heady and familiar and hurt more than it ever had before, and Kurt breathed it in until he couldn't anymore, until the tears hazed his vision again and the tiny box in his pocket felt as heavy as lead.

Standing, Kurt dug his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, running fingers down the velvet surface, stroking it almost reverently.

He popped it open.

The blade was still there, glinting in the mid-morning light that shone in through the window because the lamps had been left on and at some point the bulbs had burnt out. For a while, Kurt just stared at it.

He made up his mind.

The razor slipped out easily and Kurt fiddled with it between his fingers, avoiding the edge. The box went into the middle drawer of his mother's dresser, replacing the blade with the piano key necklace she had always worn. It fit awkwardly because the box was meant for a ring, but Kurt thought his mother would probably have forgiven him for it anyway.

The blade was dropped into the bathroom trash bin.

Kurt didn't change the bulbs, he didn't dust, and he didn't take anything from the room, but when he walked out to join the Doctor and Rose downstairs, the door stayed open.

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><p><em>To: Mercedes Jones<br>FWD: Artie Abrams, Rachel Berry, Mike Chang, Tina Cohen-Chang, Sam Evans, Quinn Fabray, Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Noah Puckerman, Matt Rutherford_

_I love you._

_Sent:  
>Mon Jan 10, 1:13 pm<em>

_To: Dad Cell_

_Please forgive me for this._

_Sent:  
>Mon Jan 10, 1:15 pm<em>

The doors of the TARDIS closed and the blue box faded.

* * *

><p>In the middle of math class, Mercedes and Rachel, sitting next to one another and pretending not to be bored out of their minds each received a text simultaneously. Mercedes flipped her phone open underneath her desk and read the three words, read them over and over again until her eyes began to water for a reason she couldn't pin down and they all blurred together into something that looked and felt suspiciously like a goodbye.<p>

She looked at Rachel the moment Rachel looked at her, brown eyes wide and a little scared because while Kurt was known to drop that word like an emotionally shocking metaphorical warhead, it had never been with her.

Kurt's car wasn't in the school parking lot. He had never come to class that day and wouldn't for the next, or the next or the next. He wouldn't reply when Mercedes texted him back. When the police eventually did a search of his house, the only things that were missing were his clothes and some personal effects.

No struggle, no warning, no body.

No one around town had seen him.

And no one would for a very long time.

* * *

><p>The TARDIS could very quickly become his best friend, Kurt had decided upon throwing open the door to the room that, according to the Doctor should <em>probably<em> suit his needs in terms of vanity. He would never be able to have a normal closet again. Ever.

At least not one that didn't have multi-angle mirrors and spiraling hanging bars because those were seriously the coolest things he'd ever seen.

The rules of inhabiting the TARDIS seemed relatively simple.

1) For the love of everything holy, do not go off on your own until you get your bearings. No one likes to think about Adam Mitchell or remember what his pulsing brain looked like.

2) Do not attempt to set the TARDIS on fire.

Kurt was sure that there were more, but he was pretty sure that he could follow those, and he made a mental note to ask Rose about that Adam guy because the Doctor glowered at her and looked like he'd sucked a lemon every time his name came up.

He also tended to resentfully mutter "pretty boy" in a badly done stage whisper.

The boy thought, briefly, that the first stop they made would be somewhere dramatic and meaningful and full of poetic poignancy. That idea lasted until the door opened and he looked out upon the landscape to see a planet that was, in its entirety, an empty, grassy meadow. He might have asked why they were there if not for the fact that Rose had bodily dragged the Doctor out of the TARDIS and had flopped onto the ground.

And now they were both apparently relishing in rolling around in the sun like overgrown cats.

All he could see of Rose sticking out of the tall grass was her hand waving in his direction, beckoning him closer.

"_No way am I getting grass stains on this. Do you have any idea of what I paid for it?"_ Kurt had retorted, gesticulating towards his clothing.

"_Two words: magic dryer. Now quit your whining and get over here."_

Kurt scowled but eventually the giggling and the desire to see what exactly the Doctor was doing to Rose to get her to swear like that got the better of him and he shrugged off his jacket.

"_This had better be the best damn grass in the universe."_

* * *

><p>Nerves and the newness of the whole situation worked for a while.<p>

For the first few days…nights…well, Rose had gotten into the habit of calling them cycles because there was no day or night in the vortex of time and space, Kurt had actually slept. His brain was too full to do anything else and the inhabitants of the second place they visited had a hostility for anything bipedal that had led to the lot of them running for their lives back to the TARDIS.

Apparently this happened relatively often.

But it was getting harder and harder and Kurt had tired of pacing the perimeter of his bedroom.

He wondered where the Doctor was because the man never seemed to actually need sleep. Surely he had to get some sometime but when that was, Kurt didn't have a clue.

That was how he found himself, three hours into what would be a sleep cycle for normal people, sitting on the floor in the TARDIS' main control room and handing tools down to the Doctor when he asked for them.

"Let me ask you something, kid," the man said conversationally, voice slightly muffled by the metal paneling that currently obscured his face, "Have you always been an insomniac or is it a recent thing? You're pretty used to it."

Kurt cringed just the slightest bit.

The question was discomforting.

"I…I was always a night owl," he started, twisting his hands behind his back, "But I never had sleep issues until…until my mother passed away. I guess I never really grew out of them but I got pretty good at functioning on five or six hours a night. Then when… you know," he couldn't even say it, "I couldn't even do that. My brain just gets stuck on everything and I can't turn it off and I can either lay there forever or get up and do something until I tire myself out."

_Like go walking around outside in the middle of winter._

"Hand me that… that thingy with the curvy thingamabob on the end."

"That's a scientific name."

"Quit nitpicking and hand it over."

It was silent for about a minute and Kurt shifted until he was no longer sitting upright but draping himself over the shaft, peering in to where the Doctor was working.

"What is it that you're trying to fix?" he asked, because the Doctor was alternating between actually using the tools and occasionally giving a panel or a chip a swift, openhanded whack.

"A lot of technical mumbo-jumbo that'll go completely over your head."

Kurt scowled and went quiet again, settling for just watching him work.

"Can I ask you something else?" the question came softly, and the boy received an affirmative grunt in reply, "If this is a time machine that can go anywhere… does that mean that we could-?"

"No," the Doctor answered without waiting for the rest, "I know where you're going with this, and no."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"I know exactly what you were going to ask, I don't need to hear the rest. I won't take you back to try and save your father."

Kurt reeled backwards as if he'd been slapped, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

"But—!"

There was a clatter and the Doctor hefted himself out of the shaft of the TARDIS, settling down on the floor to look Kurt properly in the eyes.

"_No_. You need to listen to me. No. And answer me this, what would you hope to accomplish?"

"I could… I could save him. I could…"

"How? He had a heart attack, Kurt. What would you do, go back ten, twenty years and tell him to eat better, to take better care of himself? What would you do that you didn't already do? You could go back and see him in the hospital but you'd run into yourself at his bedside. You could go see him alive and himself one more time, but what would that get you? He's _gone_—"

"He died disappointed in me!" Kurt exclaimed, voice breaking, "The last thing ever said to me was that he was disappointed in me and that he thought I was _better_. That I didn't know what was _important_." The boy clenched his fingers in the hem of his shirt, willing himself with everything he had not to cry. It didn't work very well.

"I never met your father, ever. Not once," the Doctor said lowly, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. His eyes were shadowed. "But even I know that that man loved you. All anyone has to do is look inside that bedroom and then look at you to see it."

A choked sob made its way past Kurt's lips.

"I won't take you back there, not now and not ever. It won't help you. Don't ask me again; I learnt my lesson the last time I did that."

Furiously, Kurt wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed because while he might be a messed up, broken wreck, he absolutely would not go runny-nosed inside of a time machine and in front of someone who had at least eight-hundred and eighty-some years on him.

And then the Doctor had slid back underneath the floor panels, grabbing Kurt by the ankle and giving it a swift tug.

"Get down here. It might be mumbo-jumbo to you but if you're going to sit and watch, you might as well learn something."

* * *

><p>AN2: And there you have it! I hope you all enjoyed, please leave a review if you liked this, or even if you'd rather drop-kick me into the sun for making this story go so slow. Feedback really is a writer's lifeblood.<p> 


	5. Legato

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: As always, thank you so much for all the reviews and alerts. I'm constantly being surprised at how much this feedback this story is receiving. Oh, and I keep getting asked this, <strong>this is Ninth Doctor.<strong> Just want to make that absolutely, totally clear since apparently it hasn't been. XD Also, this chapter features Jack. I'm going to make it clear right now, I've never seen Torchwood so I am absolutely not comfortable with his character outside of what we see in the Whoniverse. Therefore, no pairings. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not going to risk writing something badly for the sake of writing it.

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><p>"When are we and why exactly am I dressed like this? I'm all for vintage and this suit is amazing, but…" Kurt trailed off and glanced down at himself, garbed in a bright red, open tailored suit and a pair of genuine Beatle boots. Next to him, Rose did a quick spin on her pumps, marveling at the fit of her bright yellow shift, swinging her matching bag out in front of her. Dressed as normal (how did he even get away with that?), the Doctor smiled smugly at the both of them.<p>

"February 9th, 1964. New York, New York."

Rose cocked her head, but Kurt's jaw dropped.

"…_no_," he breathed, "No way."

"What, what are we here for?" Rose asked, glancing between the two of them.

Kurt didn't think it was possible, but the Doctor got even smugger, turning and beginning to walk in the opposite direction, whistling a familiar, jaunty tune. Kurt bolted after him.

"Doctor, oh my god, are you serious? _Really?_ Oh my god, how are we going to get in? There's no way they'll just let us waltz right in—" Kurt broke off when the Doctor flipped a white card out of his coat and twirled it between his fingers.

"Psychic paper, people will see whatever gets the job done."

"Handy. Where can I get one?"

"Oi!" Rose hollered, "Girl in heels back here! Slow down before I take the shoes off, catch up, and then clobber you both with them!"

"Rose, come on! Come on!"

It was almost worth getting the weird looks from people on the street to see Kurt practically bouncing, looking a strange mixture of lost and gobsmacked and mixed with genuine excitement. There was something so familiar about this date and it was starting to drive her nuts because it had to be big to set him off like that, but she couldn't _think_ of it.

"February 9th, 1964, New York, New York," the Doctor repeated when Rose had caught up, "The American live debut of The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, performed in front of an audience of over seven-hundred and watched by over forty percent of the United States. We're going to do better than watch it on the telly."

This time it was Rose's turn to drop her jaw and she glanced to Kurt, who looked maybe about two seconds from literally dragging them the rest of the way to the station. A little smile tilted at her lips and she offered an arm to each of her companions. The Doctor slipped his arm through hers without hesitation but Kurt paused a moment before eventually looping his through as well.

She beamed at him.

"Well, what are we waiting for? We've got a concert to get to!"

* * *

><p>Kurt was floating and this time it was the happy floating because holy damn, how many people got to do this? He'd seen the videos on Youtube, certainly, but nothing had compared to <em>being<em> there and soaking up the atmosphere, to seeing them _right there _from the special seats that the Doctor had procured with his psychic paper. He and Rose had shrieked and flailed with the best of them while the Doctor had merely stood on his other side, laughing his head off at them both.

Kurt bounced through "All My Loving" and swayed appropriately through "Till There Was You"; pumped his fist in the air and sang along to "She Loves You" and "I Saw Her Standing there".

"Oh yeah, I'll tell you something I think you'll understand,"

He'd completely frozen and gone stone-still.

For the first minute, Kurt could only stand there and blink back tears because _this song_ was so precious and he was standing right there, watching The Beatles play for the first time in America and in a few years, his father would be alive. So young, younger than him, forever unaware that on the other side of the country and three years before, he had a son who was watching history being made and who was thinking of him.

Lima was a small town.

Maybe Burt Hummel and Elizabeth Stewardson would live close to one another, maybe they'd play together. Maybe they'd pretend to get married, if girls didn't have cooties yet.

They wouldn't know what the future would hold: that they actually would get married, that they would live in Lima for the rest of their lives, that they would have a gay son who owned too many shoes who would watch them both pass away and who would become a time traveler all before he could legally buy pornography.

They wouldn't know, not until later, what was so special about this performance. They definitely wouldn't know that years and years from now, they'd both be singing this song to Kurt. Maybe they'd watch old re-runs and wonder what it would have been like to be there; maybe the camera would pan over the three of them for a second and Burt Hummel wouldn't have any idea that he'd just seen into the future.

For the first time in his life, Kurt understood the meaning of small town nostalgia.

About halfway through the song, the sides of his lips tipped upwards and Kurt reached out with both of his hands, lacing his fingers with the Doctor's, lacing his fingers with Rose's.

He squeezed and didn't make eye contact, but his smile widened just a little bit when he received twin squeezes back.

* * *

><p>Kurt's footsteps echoed through the main room of the TARDIS and he sat down on the floor next to the open floor shaft that was currently emitting clanging noises that sounded disturbingly like a wrench hitting metal.<p>

"Back again?" The Doctor's voice filtered upwards like it always did because try as he might, Kurt still couldn't sleep through the night two months later.

Kurt smiled weakly in response, one hand coming up to rub circles into his temple. The Doctor leveled him with an impressively dry look in return.

"Yeah. Uh…bad dreams."

Kurt wasn't sure if it was an improvement or not that he'd traded in his insomnia for straight-up nightmares, but it was probably best not to think too hard about it.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You already did, but go."

Kurt shifted a little, biting at his lip.

"Are there a lot of you running around? I mean—Time Lords, I mean."

The instant the words were out of his mouth, Kurt realized that he'd just walked right in on That Bad Subject. The entire atmosphere changed, going from amiable and companionable to split-second tense and Kurt raised his hands, backpedaling.

"Sorry, nevermind. Forget I said anything—"

"They're gone," the Doctor said shortly, voice stiff and stone-cold and Kurt _knew_ that kind of tone because he used it when he couldn't afford to be sad. "Every last one of them but me gone, perished in the Time War. Rose already knows so you might as well hear it from me instead of someone else; I was the one who did it. I decimated them all to end it. I destroyed our enemies, but I destroyed my own planet to do it."

Kurt went cold. There were drums in his ears –no, sorry, that was his heart- and it felt like a brick of ice had settled in his stomach, cold and hard and heavy. The Doctor was just watching him with a resigned, crooked smile that Kurt fucking _knew_ and he wanted to do something, anything to get it off his face because it was so wrong to smile when everything in your eyes screamed that you were in agony.

Why yes, Kurt Hummel knew the meaning of the word 'hypocrisy'.

Kurt had thought that he'd known pain, known sadness, known loathing. He'd lost his family, his control, his rope connecting him to anything stable. The Doctor must have had family too; friends and possible lovers and people he despised that were gone now. The _magnitude_.

He _liked_ the man, respected him, trusted him, but he'd never had felt such an intense (and ultimately futile) need to protect someone quite like this. The feeling was forceful and burned cold and shook Kurt to his core because not once did the idea that there might have been any other way out occur to him and that wasn't like Kurt at all.

At least it wasn't like old Kurt.

Old Kurt would have been horrified at the very thought of having that kind of option as even being on the table.

New Kurt couldn't help but think differently.

There were literally no words. No words could make it better or fix it because it wasn't something you could smack with a wrench or stick a bandage on and Kurt couldn't even fix himself, much less ever think highly enough of himself to presume that he could make something like that even remotely better.

But he couldn't just _sit_ there like some useless statue, because that damned smile was still there and Kurt seethed with the unfairness and anger and _sympathy_.

Pale and trembling, the boy crept forward to hover over the hole in the floor and reached out to just barely brush the Doctor's shoulder with his hand, settling it steadily.

He couldn't offer platitudes, wouldn't and couldn't and didn't _want_ to offer platitudes because even though he didn't know details and frankly didn't want details, Kurt liked to think that the best of the Doctor was the person who'd hollered at him and thrown open his father's door and stalked him down the street in the middle of winter and taken them to a Beatles concert because he knew that Kurt would appreciate it.

If that was the best of the Doctor, than it was more than worth it for the worst.

And if it wasn't the best?

Kurt had every intention of hanging around long enough to see it.

Blue eyes locked and Kurt held his gaze even though it was dark and heavy and he was actually a little bit scared because he had no business barking up that tree.

Finally, the Doctor nodded and Kurt took back his hand, twisting them together in his lap.

The silence was oppressive and grave and Kurt bit his lip because there were _no words_. Until,

"Hand me that—"

The nonsensical wrench with the curvy bit on the end was in the Doctor's hand before he could finish the request.

* * *

><p>There was no logical reason for Kurt to like Jackie Tyler so much.<p>

The woman was loud, overbearing, pushy, and had the same godawful roots that plagued her daughter, but Kurt just couldn't help but like her. Oh, he tried. Futilely but he did try, if only out of habit but then she'd looked down, caught sight of his Doc Martens, and asked where in God's name he'd managed to get a pair in nuclear green and where could she find some, and Kurt was gone.

There was simply no hope after that; she'd cemented herself right alongside Rose and the Doctor on Kurt's short list of 'People I Think Are Kind Of Really Awesome'. She apparently thought the same of him but had also made it her duty to mother him into madness every time they dropped in, something that he and Rose exchanged long-suffering eye rolls over once he realized that he was stuck with it.

_Have you eaten yet, Kurt? How the blazes do you even know when to sleep in that blasted thing? Rose, is that a bruise on your arm?_

Essentially, they'd bonded. It started from a mutual love of shoes, but then Jackie had popped on the television and suddenly it was two hours later and they'd really just spent that entire time watching back-to-back episodes of _A Shot At Love With Tila Tequila_ and Rose was staring at them in horror as if she'd somehow created a monster.

Kurt didn't see what the big deal was.

While Kurt got along fabulously well with Jackie (better than the Doctor did, anyway), he and Mickey did not enjoy each other's company.

At all.

Kurt had by no means _forgotten_ about homophobia, but after visiting enough places inhabited by people who'd like to shoot you down for the shape of your ears or because you weren't green and covered in fur, opinions about his sexuality weren't exactly at the forefront of his mind to worry about. He'd been starkly reminded of it the first time he met the guy and he got The Look.

It wasn't the Really Bad Look that always made him want to posture and speak with knives instead of words, but enough of a one that it ruffled his feathers and Kurt may or may not have taken more potshots at him than he otherwise would have. Those potshots didn't help their relationship in the slightest. It had actually been the first time that he and Rose had really clashed because Mickey drove her nuts and she wasn't particularly fond of his comments herself but he was still her _boyfriend_, which was just one more thing to add to the list because Kurt refused to accept that he was even remotely good enough for her.

What kind of boyfriend just sat around and waited for his girl when he could have gone with her? What kind of boyfriend just waited around even when he never knew when she'd be back?

It was obvious that Rose had chosen the Doctor (even if it wasn't in an overtly _romantic_ manner, but Kurt thought that whoever thought that it wasn't had to be blind) over and over again, every time she left.

And if Kurt happened to notice that the Doctor went a funny combination of agitated and reluctantly pleased about his opinion on the matter, who was he to say anything about it?

* * *

><p>A few days after they ended up picking up one Captain Jack Harkness right before the man's ship exploded (Kurt didn't even want to <em>think <em>about that little trip because he'd never be able to see a gas mask without shivering ever again), Kurt had come to the conclusion that _that_ was how he wanted to go about approaching his sexuality.

Clearly, it wasn't such a big deal in the 51st century but Kurt couldn't help but marvel at how easy he made it, tossing off the flirty winks, shoulder shoves, and come-ons to all of them indiscriminately.

Rose brushed them off and they made the Doctor laugh, but Kurt had been thrown to the point of speechlessness when the man walked by and gave him a good-natured squeeze on the rear without as much as a by-your-leave. He'd just stood there, open-mouthed and wide-eyed and holy hell he'd just been hit on.

Nonchalantly and without expectation, but for the first time in his short life, Kurt had been legitimately hit on.

_By a guy_. Not just a guy, but a really, _really_ attractive guy.

It was official; he might actually be able to die happy.

"Oi, he's too young for you!" The Doctor called out and Kurt flushed red because yeah, totally not the only person in the TARDIS right now and now the Doctor was laughing at him. Jack flapped a hand at him.

"Hey now, you don't know that."

"I know that you've got more lasciviousness in your pinky finger than his brain can deal with." The Doctor smirked and Jack snorted with laughter.

"Who, little me? I'm an innocent daisy, really."

"Innocent, my arse."

Jack batted his lashes.

"And isn't it just my good luck that everyone in this thing, including myself, possesses a spectacular one of those?"

He tossed off one more, just-as-saucy-as-the-first wink to Kurt who went even redder and half-tripped out of the TARDIS, stuttering something about grocery shopping.

He completely missed the entirely too amused,

"What did I tell you? You scrambled his brains and now he doesn't even remember that humans aren't around yet." That followed him out.

It was entirely worth the how-was-the-_snerk_-shopping's two hours later when Kurt returned with his pockets bulging with the weirdest and most delicious fruits to be able to say,

"Just fine, thanks. Did you know that the monkeys will throw these down if you toss them some Bugles? I can shop _anywhere_. Fear me."

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><p>AN: And there we have it! The mental image of Kurt and Jackie just sitting around and watching trashy television is one that I will enjoy for the rest of my days. Please leave a review if you enjoyed this but if you want to try and knock me into space with a killdozer, I'm more than willing to engage in combat. Thank you for reading!<p> 


	6. Dirge

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you for the feedback and for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! I read and appreciate every single one. I might not be able to reply to every one but I promise, I do read them. Also, about the short chapters… take into consideration that this is being posted comment by comment on a livejournal post. This means that the sections are naturally going to be a bit shorter than I'm used to writing and than what you're used to reading from me. However, I currently have over 34,000 words written for this fanfic, so bear with me because I'm also someone who's more accustomed to writing one-shots.<p>

**Also** if you're paying attention, you'll have noticed that I've named all of my chapters. I wasn't sure how I wanted to go with it, but I think I've been properly inspired. If you're music-savvy, they'll be a hint that sets the tone of the chapter.

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><p>Chapter Six: Dirge<p>

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><p>This had been a terrible idea from the start and the worst part was that they'd all kind of known it from the moment they'd stepped out of the TARDIS. The doors had opened into a world with a dim, cloud-covered sun that seemed to be permanently shrouded in darkness, cold and seemingly dead. The Doctor had glanced around and his jaw had gone tight and Rose had taken a step closer to him and Jack had shuddered just the slightest bit, and Kurt almost told the lot of them that he would be just fine safely staying inside for this little visit, thank you so very much, send flowers and a fruit basket for the wait.<p>

That would have been fine if not for the fact that he hadn't calculated in the little detail that he was almost physically incapable of letting any of them go running off into imminent danger without him.

Where had it landed him?

There had been a skirmish with the locals (because that was such a shock) and they had gotten separated in the process and now Kurt was strapped onto a table, being loomed over by a couple of ox people holding what looked to be dangerously blunt and unsterilized surgical tools.

Funny, he used to pride himself on his sense of self-preservation. Where the hell had it gone? Did travelling through time just, like, make you lose all those instincts that had kept you alive so far? Kurt could have slapped himself because he could have and should have stayed in the TARDIS but noooooo, and oh god they were coming closer and those tools did not look safe and there wasn't any sort of anesthetic to be found.

Hell.

"Where is the sun-thief?" Ox-1 grunted at him and all Kurt could do was shake his head frantically from side to side because he didn't _know_ and what the hell did they think he knew about a sun-thief? He was not going to cry, not here, not in front of ox people who were talking nonsense and probably going to get an intimate look at his insides.

Where was the Doctor? Where was Jack? Oh god, where was _Rose_?

Despite the fear that was making him shake, Kurt hoped fervently that they weren't in the same position he was. Kurt had never prayed in his life but he was seriously considering coming close even though God had never helped him before.

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about," Kurt insisted, vulnerable and absolutely terrified, "I don't know anything about a sun-thief. Please let me go."

A hoof-hand reached out and roughly cuffed him about the side of his head, grabbing a section of his hair and tugging. Kurt yelped and squirmed.

"You lie."

"No, I swear I'm not lying. What will it take for you to believe me—oh my god, what are you going to do with that?"

Ox-2 answered this time, grim and serious. Kurt was sure that he'd never seen a blade like that before, twisted and curved, and it might have been pretty if it hadn't been encrusted with the same grime and foul-smelling dinge that seemed to cover the whole area.

"This world had life and warmth before it was stripped and left to wither, after you took what you wanted and left for the stars. You blocked out our sun, ravaged our soils, and left us to war. We demand penance, little thief. You will pay it with your blood upon our altar and your carcass paraded through the streets."

"No, no, seriously, you really don't want to bleed me out over anything, it's actually quite excruciating and my voice can hit notes that scare dogs away and _oh my god_ why am I still talking?" Kurt rambled, eyes involuntarily filling with tears. For a brief moment, the large ears on Ox-1 and Ox-2 twitched warily but the movement was over as quickly as it had begun.

Kurt glanced half-hysterically around the room as if something that could help him might magically materialize to get him out of this.

Kurt Hummel had never, ever been lucky.

The knife was coming closer and closer and when it cut down it cut hard and sharp into his arm, pulling through skin and muscle and scraping on bone and Kurt could _hear_ it in his ears and then he really was screaming, a howling, sobbing scream that echoed and bounced off of stone walls. He was crying and shrieking and begging, for them to stop, _please just stop_, for the Doctor, for Jack, then for _Daddy, Dad, please don't let them kill me_.

It seemed to go on forever, seconds and hours and _days_ and Kurt continued to struggle. He'd given up before and no way in hell would he let them see him go down doing anything but fighting to the very last goddamned second.

And then the knife slipped, because strength counted for a lot but dexterity counted for more.

One of the leather straps holding his wrists and body tore and Kurt wrenched it free, desperate and afraid and thinking only of how to maybe stay alive long enough at least find out if everyone else was okay.

A hoof-hand tried to grab but fear and pain made him fast and quick. Blood-slicked, nimble fingers used to delicate work on a sewing machine untangled the last strap attached to his left wrist that kept him attached to that table and everything was red and slippery and _oh no oh no oh no_ he was actually going to bleed out here and he _couldn't_.

Kurt ducked underneath and came out the other side, eyes blown wide with terror and then he was _angry_ because what the fuck, he'd never done anything to them and how _dare _they do this to him. There was a roaring in his ears and he ducked Ox-1 or Ox-2 or who the fuck even cared anymore because they were trying to kill him tried to grab him again and Kurt grabbed back, gripping with both hands around the ring in its nose and yanking hard until it came out in his hands.

The creature roared in agony and rage and Kurt felt a sick sort of satisfaction because any pain they received from him was well deserved. It backed away and fled the room, nursing its ripped and bleeding nose.

Kurt screamed again, furious now, and his brain had jumped back to Lima and Karofsky and oh, what he might have been able to do if he'd been this angry then. He thought he'd known pain with the dumpster tosses and the blows when they managed to catch him, but those were nothing compared to this, this piercing and burning that sent shock waves through his nerves with every movement.

He roared and kicked and hit and kicked some more –who knew that steel toes combined with a killer high kick could be effective on nine-foot tall ox people?- and then the blade was in his face.

They weren't trying for a ritualized killing anymore; this was a fight and they didn't care anymore about any supposed sun-thief, this was just about him and Kurt could fight that because that's what he'd been doing for the last seventeen years of his life.

"_You know, Porcelain, there's a point where you've just got to say 'to hell with everyone else' and take anything you want in this world. And you know what? If you think you deserve it enough, it's your right to take it."_

"_Sweetheart, bullies want attention. If you ignore them, they'll stop."_

"_Boy, if they do that again, just tell me and I'll cut them so hard they'll see stars."_

"_Kurt, you need to listen to me. I don't ever want to think about this, but if it comes down to it, if it comes down to it being you or someone else, I want you to choose you. Sometimes, you can't be soft and I know you don't like to hurt anyone and I don't ever want you to be in a situation where you'll have to hurt, but if it's you or them, choose _you_."_

The knife came and Kurt chose himself, twisting to let it cut into his already-injured shoulder instead of his jugular.

Fuck fair, fuck nice, fuck everything but living and staying alive, and Kurt ducked the blow to skid to the other side of the room, grabbing a metal pipe off of the floor and fighting, fighting desperately like a wolf in a trap. The pipe hit and made contact, over and over again, and Kurt landed blows until his assailant stopped moving.

Then everything went silent.

Breaths heaving and ragged, Kurt backed away, blood from his mangled arm dripping onto the stone floor and the blood from his would-be executioner a deep purple-ish burgundy, seeping from the injuries that _Kurt_ had caused, bruises and cuts and broken bones.

The pipe slipped from slackened fingers and hit the floor with a clatter and Kurt sagged against the wall.

Air had never felt so sweet in his lungs despite the smog and smoke and the fact that all the air in the world would never, ever be enough to make up for thinking that he was going to die.

He was alive because he _chose_ it, and that thought was the only thing that lent him the strength to push open the door. Pain was shooting up the entire left side of his body but Kurt could only embrace it. Pain meant that he was alive.

The hallway was deserted and empty and Kurt was thankful for it because if he had to deal with another fight, that really would be it for him. He tried to quiet his breathing and listen, listen for anyone familiar. All he could hear was silence and Kurt realized, almost as if he was watching from the outside, that his cheeks were wet and that his breaths were broken every little bit with relieved sobs.

The trek to the entrance to the fort was excruciating and the door was thick, made of some sort of blue-green metal. There were no locks, knobs, or even hinges, and that made no sense at all because Kurt _remembered_ it opening the first time he was dragged in here, but try as he might, he couldn't get it open. Kurt pushed and pulled with all of his might but it didn't budge, and the relieved sobs turned into disappointed, furious ones. He'd come all this way, was he to be finished off by a door?

He'd taken a life and fought with everything he had to be stopped by the thrice-damned door?

He had to find Rose and the Doctor. He had to know if Jack was safe. He had to make sure they stayed alive and unharmed and—and—

There was the quietest, softest buzzing sound that couldn't be anything but the sonic screwdriver and then the door _opened_ to the outside and Kurt fell through it, landing in arms that were skin and not muscled fur and grime.

Someone spoke but as hard as he tried, Kurt couldn't for the world figure out what the words were. He fought to listen, to _hear_.

"I—They—Doctor, where's the—Rose, Jack—?" he babbled and a hand landed over his mouth to shush him.

"Easy, kid, easy," That was an American accent, easy to tell who it was, "We're all okay. I've got you, I've got you." A hand brushed his bangs aside and Kurt squinted helplessly because he'd unthinkingly wiped his eyes with his bad hand and gotten blood in them. "Here, here. We're here and we came to get you and we're getting back to the TARDIS right now. We're getting out of here."

A voice that he recognized, deep and strong and _safe_ joined Jack's and Kurt reached out blindly for the source, his hand hitting warm leather.

"Close your eyes, we'll be there soon."

Kurt went weak with the words and obeyed, settling into a world of darkness and sound, of pounding footsteps and shouts and low muttering that said nothing but meant everything.

"I chose me," he whispered to no one the second the doors of the TARDIS closed, "I'm so sorry, I chose me. I chose me, I chose me."

"Good," the Doctor's voice was warm in his ears, "I'm glad you did."

The world went fuzzy but Kurt didn't fight it because the Doctor had never let him down before and he didn't think that he'd choose now to start.

* * *

><p>The world came back into focus slowly.<p>

Kurt was grateful for this because, as nice as it was to be alive, the world was bright and the light was quite painful until he got his bearings back. Kurt had expected excruciating pain in his arm and was surprised to find himself with naught but a dull, throbbing ache.

He almost got excited about it until Rose informed him that he was drugged to the gills with painkillers and that if he knew what was good for him, he wouldn't even try to get out of bed yet.

In the words of the Doctor, _fantastic_.

* * *

><p>Kurt's arm and shoulder healed well but would have permanent scarring, starting with the twisted starburst at the very base of his neck to the sweeping, curving slash that snaked all the way down to his wrist. They'd managed to stave off infection (somehow, because that blade had been <em>disgusting<em>) and with enough care, Kurt was able to retain a full range of movement even though it had taken longer than he liked to get the strength back into it.

There was no saving the skin though, and even after the wounds had healed, Kurt refused to go anywhere in short sleeves for months because there were only so many times that he could look in the mirror and hear the word _ugly_ repeated over and over again in his head without flinching.

* * *

><p>"Hello," Kurt greeted softly, padding into the control room.<p>

"This hasn't happened in a while," the Doctor commented. He wasn't submerged in the floor panels but instead hunched over the control boards. He didn't look like he was doing maintenance, more like observation. An open copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ lay open next to him, and Kurt idly remembered someone, probably Rose, mentioning that the Doctor was a fan of Dickens. "You'd actually been sleeping through the night."

The boy shrugged.

"Just…couldn't. Haven't for the last couple of days. Not since…" he trailed off and ever so gently brushed his hand against the tender, bandaged and medicated length of his arm. "I don't know."

The Doctor raised a single brow at him. Kurt sighed, resigned.

"Okay. I totally know. But there's nothing I can _do_ about it. It's done, it's over, I can't take back what I did. I don't even want to take it back because I lived and I don't regret it. But…"

"It's never easy," the Doctor remarked, gruffly, "It's never easy and it never gets easier no matter how often it has to happen."

"I kind of figured," Kurt replied, hand idly running through his hair. "I just… I can't help but feel sorry for them. Not for _them_ specifically because they shredded me, but as a whole. It seemed like they really got the short end of the stick with the whole black sun, war, and blight thing." He shifted uncomfortably. "I know I didn't do it, and then I just start wondering why I feel so guilty, then I start wondering why I _don't_. I didn't want to kill them, I didn't! But…"

"You know," the Doctor began, pushing away from the consol and passing through the door to one of the hallways, "Some of the most common advice involves getting rid of your guilt."

Kurt had already begun to follow him unthinkingly, and blinked quizzically at the comment.

"…yes?"

"Thing is, you can't just 'get rid of' guilt."

Kurt knew that, _oh_ did he know that.

"You can only work with it. Put it away, box it up, compartmentalize it. It's a sword and if you don't know how to use it, it cuts you, weakens you. But you can use it to be stronger."

Blue eyes went shuttered and Kurt watched the ceiling and those even, perfectly spaced and absolutely useless circles that lined the walls.

"_How_?" he breathed, sounding more desperate than he thought he'd felt.

The Doctor stopped and stepped in front of Kurt, stopping him in his tracks.

Large hands found their way to the boy's shoulders and squeezed, heavy and strong and safe.

"You have to tell yourself that instead of them perishing, you lived. If they had lived, you would have died. You have to be able to see it as a victory because that's the only way someone with a strong heart can survive. You might have to do it again at some point, but you _have_ to see it as a victory in some way or you'll just break yourself. The only people who will ever tell you to 'get rid of it' are those who don't have to carry it and don't know the weight."

Kurt didn't know quite how to respond to that and said nothing. All he had to do was think about how that pipe had felt in his hands for a chill to start its slow creep up his spine and it was so easy to remember how all that blood had looked, spattered and smeared all over the room. He shuddered and shook his head, looking up just in time to realize that they had stopped in front of his room again.

"What are—?" he asked, catching a half-smug, half-knowing tilt of the lips in return.

"The night is young; we've probably got about two hours or so before you collapse-"

Kurt scowled.

"So we might as well spend the time doing something productive."

"Like…" Kurt began, running a finger over his lower jaw, "Getting that pair of boots that Jack and I were drooling over so I can brag at him and wear them out tomorrow?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"I was thinking a snack, silly me for forgetting that you ran off of shoes and retail-"

"And froyo," Kurt added helpfully.

"-_And _froyo. So hurry up and get dressed if you want to actually be back by the time your swanking opportunity comes along."

"My God, you're awesome."

* * *

><p>AN: And chapter six is finished! Some proper action and violence for you people. As always, please review and leave feedback if you enjoyed this, or even if you want to clobber me with a rock for making Kurt save himself.<p> 


	7. Interlude

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry kids, this is super short, mostly because this little bit doesn't fit in anywhere other than by itself. The next update is properly adventurous and I didn't quite feel comfortable sticking this piece with it. Don't hurt me ahahaha.<p>

Thank you for all of your feedback on the last chapter! Frankly, that section was one of my favorites to write and I'm thrilled that people seemed to like it as much as I did. I may or may not get a ridiculous enjoyment with writing violent, bloody scenes as much as I love writing fluff. I think there's something wrong with me. Anyway, enjoy!

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><p>Chapter Seven: Interlude<p>

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><p>"Come on, no one will notice at all. You can't possibly <em>want<em> to stay in here," Rose wheedled persistently, bikini-clad and holding a plastic caddy containing sunscreen, a couple of cans of soda, and a package of paper umbrellas. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest.

"No," he said firmly, "No. It's too hot for sleeves, so I'm staying in here. You have fun with Jack and the Doc- Actually, just with the Doctor because if my eyes aren't lying, Jack's already found himself a buddy for the day."

Yep, because the way the Doctor was noticeably _not_ letting his eyes admire that bikini and the subtle scowls he'd tossed Jack's way had nothing to do with it. Nope. No, not at all. Not a single, little bit.

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Kurt? We are currently in Hawaii in the year 4000 and there is a travelling circus in town that's set up shop further down the coast. Trust me, no one is going to notice the scar when they can ogle the bearded lady."

Kurt glared, absently rubbing his arm.

"I'm not going out there."

"Come on."

"No."

"_Seriously_?"

The Doctor muttered something about not getting in the middle of this and stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, leather jacket and all.

"It's not…it's not that I don't _want_ to go out," Kurt finally said, spreading his arms helplessly. "I just…I need something to cover this. I'm not trying to be a baby or anything but it's _ugly_ and whenever I have to see it, I can't stop noticing and then I feel like everyone else sees it too and I just…I won't have any fun if I have to worry about it."

Rose just watched him silently for a few moments, her brows furrowed and her hands on her hips.

"If I can somehow find something that you can use to cover your arm without boiling to death, will you come out of the TARDIS and play on the beach with me?"

Almost immediately, Kurt nodded.

He hadn't been lying; he _did_ want to go to the beach. This was only the second time they'd been to one that hadn't been overrun by either civil war or alien landings, and he'd never once gotten the chance to go to a legitimate ocean beach while living in Lima. Rose nodded right back at him.

"Okay. I'll see what I can find." And then she'd taken off down the hallway and Kurt sighed. He couldn't figure out what she was planning. He didn't have long to wait, though, because not five minutes later she'd returned, holding a pair of blue swim trunks in one hand and a roll of what looked like elastic bandaging in a matching, electric blue.

"Hate to burst your bubble, but if those are bandages, they can't get wet," Kurt offered, "And the adhesive _never_ stays in water." He waited for her face to fall. It didn't.

If anything, the girl looked _more_ triumphant. She handed them to him with a flourish.

"That's because these aren't for people," she informed him dryly, "They're polo wraps for horses, and they've got Velcro and enough give so that you'll actually be able to move, and they're fleece so they shouldn't be itchy. They should work well enough even though they're not really supposed to get wet either. Here, hand them back over and hold out your arm, I'll wrap it for you. Judging by how long they are, we might have to cut off the end."

He obeyed and in no time had his left arm swaddled in a layer of blue. Experimentally, Kurt raised it above his head and rotated it, bending and flexing his elbow to test it. The Velcro held firm and nothing scratched or irritated, and slowly, a broad smile spread across his face.

"You are _magical_," he praised, spontaneously stepping forward and enfolding her in a hug without thinking about it, only to realize what he was doing a half-second later and beginning to backpedal. He was stopped by arms around his shoulders and Rose returning the hug, nuzzling his hair with her nose.

"You're welcome," she said gently, "Now, go change! We've got a beach to take advantage of and a Doctor to con out of his jacket."

* * *

><p>AN2: AGAIN, SORRY FOR THE BREVITY. Please leave a review if you liked it anyway, and the next chapter will be up soon.<p> 


	8. Espressivo

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for all of your feedback on the last chapter, if you can really call it a chapter. In this bit, we get into some action, and you Whovians will know exactly what I mean when I say: Bad Wolf.<p>

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><p>Chapter Eight: Espressivo<p>

* * *

><p>Kurt woke up on the floor, alone. His head felt like it was going to explode (awesome) and he really, really wasn't sure where he was. With a light groan he scrambled to his feet and rubbed his temples, just as someone began shaking his arm.<p>

"Hey, hey, get a move on! The show's about to start."

Kurt blinked blearily and a red-headed girl came into focus.

"I know the beam's disorienting, but you're going to hold us up and seriously? Don't do that before you even play."

What in the hell was even going on? Where was he? Where were his…people? He had been with other people, Kurt knew that, but his brain was unbearably fuzzy and he just couldn't pin down who he was looking for or what he'd even been doing or _why_ he'd been lying on the floor.

"Play? What are we playing?" Kurt asked and the girl took his arm, dragging him bodily towards what looked to be a set for a television show.

The girl (Pip, judging by the nametag pinned to her front) rolled her eyes at him.

"We're in Street Smarts. I hope for your sake you're sharper than this, because you're doomed otherwise."

What.

The.

Hell.

Numbly, Kurt accepted his own nametag and stuck it on. He didn't notice when he'd been pushed up to the little gameplay podium because his eyes were locked on the 'host', a large robot wearing a backwards baseball cap and an awkwardly fitting polo. Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear.

"3, 2, 1… roll!"

And then there was recorded cheering and flashing lights and Kurt's opponent was posturing at him, pointing fingers and hooting. He sneered and shot bitchface at her, trying to back away from the podium.

He didn't have time to play a game, he had to go find his people, wherever they were.

But then security guards were at his back and holy shit, they had guns.

Kurt stilled and allowed himself to be pushed back. Despite her continuous bravado, Pip's eyes were wide on second glance and the whites were showing. She was _scared_ and staring at him, a strange pleading look on her face. Dragging in a breath, Kurt nodded slowly.

Absently, his hand rubbed patterns into the scar in his left arm. Through the introduction of the rules he tried desperately to quell the panic that was roiling in his stomach like nausea because fear didn't lie and if she was scared, then maybe he had a reason to be too. The hole in his memories was frustrating and upsetting and Kurt just wanted to _leave_.

But the guns at his back didn't lie either.

Shit, shit, shit.

Would he actually have to play to get out of here, wherever here was?

Kurt didn't realize what playing the game meant until he'd won it (how the heck had that even happened?) and had turned to glance over at Pip.

The girl was shaking and trembling and beginning to cry, staring at host-bot and not even bothering to protest, like she knew it'd be a hopeless cause. Kurt reached out a hand to try and steady her, the beginnings of a sympathetic smile tilting at his lips before she disintegrated under his hand, leaving naught but a tiny hill of dust on the floor.

Kurt froze and the smile slipped off of his face like rain on a windowpane.

He stared from the dust to host-bot, from host-bot to the security guards, from the security guards to the door that had just opened.

"Sweep up the loser and prepare for the next shooting," Someone was saying, not even sparing a glance to Kurt.

Okay.

Mind made up.

So not sticking around for this.

Kurt bolted and made a run for it, making a mental note to stick to the Discovery Channel and Food Network next time they hit London, because he'd sure as hell never be watching reality television the same way ever again.

If there was ever a next time, anyway.

He felt and heard the beam sizzle not an inch away from his ear, and holy shit, holy shit, he had to get to the Doctor and Rose and make sure they were okay –fine time for those memories to pop back up, thanks-, and hands were grabbing for his coat. Kurt slammed into a security guard and ripped the gun off of his belt, firing a warning shot into the air that startled enough to give him the opportunity to slip through the door.

Why did all of these hallways look exactly the same?

Why the hell was he even here?

And why was it always running?

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel had never been particularly good at being an optimist.<p>

It had never made sense in his world, where a good day meant not getting an outfit ruined with corn syrup and a bad day meant dragging himself out of panic attacks inside a stinking metal dumpster filled with the week's garbage. Add to that a naturally confrontational personality, cutting belligerence under stress, and bad luck, and yeah, Kurt kind of had the ability to see a bad situation coming a mile away, usually with bells on.

Kurt's lack of optimism went hand in hand with several of the most important universal constants.

One, Rachel Berry was incapable of dressing herself.

Two, Kurt Hummel had never been lucky.

Unfortunately, the rule book never mentioned how exactly to handle laser beams that reduced you to the molecular level, or deranged and quite lethal game shows, or women that were hooked up to the entire informational database, or the fact that Kurt's second ever kiss from a guy tasted disturbingly like goodbye.

The rule book also never mentioned Daleks, which in Kurt's humble opinion might have been the scariest motherfuckers to walk, roll, or levitate through the universe.

Kurt had a few words for the author of that rule book, none of them very nice, and made one more mental note (he should _publish_ that mental note; it'd be a bestseller and it was already long enough) to amend that book. Then maybe burn it and rewrite it himself because the current edition was just not getting the job done.

Take all that, scrunch it up into a ball, and sprinkle on top being in the middle of a pissing match with the Doctor because he wouldn't get in the TARDIS.

"Not happening."

"Get in the TARDIS."

"No."

"Do it."

"Do I need to try and remember all the ways to say no?"

"We don't have _time_ for this!" The Doctor snarled at him. Pale-faced, Kurt folded his arms over his chest, trying his best for bitchface. He had the sinking feeling that it was more like Hey-Kurt's-totally-scared-to-death-face than anything even remotely intimidating. Under any sort of normal circumstance, he probably would have obeyed.

But this was anything but normal and Kurt really couldn't have found the worst timing to be an obstinate brat.

But something was _wrong_ and it wasn't the kind of wrong that stemmed simply from the Daleks actually existing when they absolutely shouldn't. The Doctor was half-manic, but edged with a sort of desperate hysteria that was unlike him and sent alarm bells ringing in his head.

One of these days, if Kurt lived long enough, he'd really have to do some serious thinking about where exactly his survival instincts had gone.

"Get in and help Rose hold down that lever."

"No."

"I don't have the time to keep fighting you!" There was the desperation again and Kurt shook his head.

"No, you don't."

The look he got in return shook him to his bones, sad and resigned and furious and _guilty_. Then the Doctor was slamming the door of the TARDIS shut and it was beginning to vworp-vworp away. Kurt couldn't hear it, but he was sure that Rose had caught on and was probably pounding desperately at the doors, probably screaming with panic and rage because she wasn't an idiot either.

Something in the Doctor sagged in not-relief and he focused back on what he'd been doing as if completely unable to look at Kurt.

"You lied, huh?" the boy muttered quietly, kneeling down to lean against a panel next to the other man and crossing his arms.

The Doctor chuckled, low and hollow.

"Figures. You know that this means I've doomed you, right?"

"Well, you know," Kurt began, smiling a not happy at all smile, "It takes a liar to know a liar, and I've told a lot of lies. Not anywhere near as many since I joined up with you." He didn't know if it was the situation or not, but the talking didn't seem to slow down the Doctor's working and he didn't tell Kurt to be quiet, either. "I don't think I ever thanked you, not really. For taking me away."

The man grunted in acknowledgement.

"You took yourself away. I just opened the door; you made the choice to walk through it."

"Well, I'm grateful anyway. Just accept my thanks, you cranky git."

"No one should have ever taught you that word."

"And yet you can only blame yourself, Jackie Tyler, and Harry Potter for that one."

A hand reached out and ruffled his hair, already mussed and disheveled from the running and the fighting and the explosions. The action was quick and light but for that very short time, Kurt couldn't do anything but lean into it.

"That the adrenaline making you so spunky or is there something wrong with you?"

Kurt shrugged.

"Who knows?" He sobered. "Where did you send her?"

"Home," the Doctor answered shortly. Kurt sighed, blue eyes shuttering.

"Makes sense. Probably better that I decided to throw a hissy fit. Her timeline's five years before mine. There's nothing for me there." The words were out of Kurt's mouth before he could stop them (when had he become such a blabbermouth?) but when he took the extra seconds to think about it, it was true. It'd be five years of laying low and probably staying in London because his younger self would still be around. His father would be alive and Kurt would have to fight every day to not book a plane to Ohio. He'd be so close to the people he loved, but would never be able to reach out for them without causing the mother of all time paradoxes.

The only people he'd be able to speak to without fear would be Rose and Jackie, and when the five years were up, what would he do? Fly back to the states the day he was meant to leave and take his own place again? He…couldn't.

Kurt was different now and he couldn't ever go back to being the Kurt that he'd been before his father's death, or even the Kurt that he'd been when he'd first stumbled into the TARDIS. Hell, he even looked different at this point. It seemed kind of like forever ago.

And then all he could do was ache, not for the first time, for the people he'd left because he _missed _them with his entire heart. He missed Mercedes and her capacity for love and loyalty, and he missed the sweetness that lay so very close to Santana that she hated admitting she had, and he missed Mike's ability to say solely what needed to be said and Finn's well-intentioned idiocy and Puck's stupid, ugly mohawk. He missed Brittany and her unfailing honesty and Artie's attempts to be gangster in a sweater vest and Rachel's _I'm Sorry_ cookies.

He missed his house and he missed his _father_.

This had to be better.

"For what it's worth, you guys all made me better. Not just, you know, putting the pieces back together. I'm _better_ than I was, even before." Unconsciously, Kurt trailed his fingers over his black-wrapped arm, knowing intimately where the normal, flawless skin ended and the scar tissue began. "So basically you're stuck with me, come hell or high water."

"Poetic," the Doctor snipped, still focused on what his hands were doing. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up, shooting Kurt a wry, crooked smile. "This is what they call having a moment, isn't it?"

Kurt smiled back.

"Guess so."

"…could be worse."

The entire station rumbled and the Doctor lurched to his feet, Kurt following behind him.

"Finally," the boy muttered, hiding his trembling hands in the hemline of his shirt. "Time to open up that can of whoop-ass."

The Doctor snorted.

"_Fantastic_."

* * *

><p>AN2: And there it is! Please leave a review if you liked it, but if you hated it and wanted to skewer me alive, well, feel free to tell me that as well. I know I've said it before but I'll say it again, I love compliments but I also really appreciate whatever criticisms people might have. I'm not too easily offended.<p> 


	9. Intermezzo

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry, kids, we've got another super short one, mostly as a lead-in into the next arc of the story. Sorry about that.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine: Intermezzo<p>

* * *

><p>There hadn't been a single day in the last six months in which Mercedes Jones hadn't thought about Kurt Hummel at least once. Sometimes, someone would say something and she'd laugh, and then she might cut herself off because Kurt would have found it funny too. Or she'd look at herself in the mirror and ask herself, as she had for the longest time, what Kurt would have said about her outfit.<p>

Sometimes, especially in the beginning, all she'd have to do was the think the words _Technicolor zebra_ and she'd laugh. Then she'd start to cry.

Sometimes he was just _there_ in her head, and every time she thought about him, she was even more aware of the hole in her heart that he'd left.

The day he disappeared, it had been so cold and Mercedes couldn't make herself believe that Kurt had killed himself.

Some people believed that. A lot of people did, actually.

Some people thought he was dead but that he hadn't done it himself, that someone or someones had simply jumped him one day and tossed his body.

Everyone had a story or an opinion and for the first couple of months, Kurt Hummel had become the major story on the news, not because of his disappearance but because of the background behind it.

After he'd disappeared, it had all become so clear. Police had searched the house and investigated relatives and not a single one had been living with him, and whenever Mercedes thought about it, living in that big empty house all by himself without anyone to help him and with nothing but memories to keep him company, it physically hurt. Living by himself, sleeping by himself, running the shop by himself, how much had that _hurt_?

It had been so _obvious_, so why had she fallen for it? She'd _known_ Kurt, known him like very few ever would, so why had she fallen for his okays and his smiles when in the back of her mind she had to admit that some part of her had known that they were fake?

She didn't know what she could have done to help him. She thought she'd done everything she could, offered everything, gave every opportunity, so why hadn't it been enough?

In her more rational mental debates, Mercedes could admit that she'd done and tried her best, and it just hadn't been _enough_. That didn't make it okay or that she didn't feel horrible about it, but she knew that she hadn't just let him slip. At her most irrational, Mercedes felt as if she'd pushed him off the ledge herself, could almost feel the way his shoulders twitched, warm and familiar under her hands right before the shove. According to a professional, feeling that way was common and natural, but that didn't mean that it made it any easier.

Therapy had helped quite a bit.

The weirdest thing about the disappearance of Kurt Hummel wasn't what was but rather what _wasn't_.

There hadn't been any sign of struggle through the house, and Mercedes had been asked, as someone familiar with the Hummel home, to do a walkthrough and see if anything was off. Nothing had been missing except for the fact that Kurt's entire wardrobe and the contents of his bathroom had gone missing. Not a single photo had been taken, not a single keepsake, not even the bottle of his mother's perfume that she knew he kept on top of his vanity.

His only indicators were the texts he'd sent out to his friends and when the police found Burt Hummel's cell phone in the kitchen drawer, they found one more text that begged for forgiveness.

So really, Mercedes didn't know.

She wanted, more than anything, to believe that somewhere in the world, her best friend was somehow alright. That he'd run away and found somewhere safe that he could heal. That maybe he could be happy again.

Mercedes _had_ to believe that because if he hadn't, there really was nothing fair or right in the world.

* * *

><p>The fact that Kurt had told Noah Puckerman that he loved him was what made him absolutely positive that Kurt Hummel had killed himself.<p>

How many times had Puck tossed him? Threatened him, hit him, degraded him, slushied him?

Sometimes, Puck wondered if that tiny, three-word text message hadn't been Kurt's essentially flicking him off for all of that, that he was saying _Hey, look at what all you've done to me. But, you know? I love you and I hope you're happy. Go to Hell._

And that more than anything was what had cemented, in Puck's mind, that he really, really was the king of all fuck-ups.

He hadn't bullied Kurt since the past year and he'd come to honest to god like the little pixie because he was sharp and snarky and didn't just roll over at a threat, but it had hit him and hit him hard. Puck had known that he'd lost his dad. He'd known that Kurt was still being bullied.

And what had he done to help him, someone he considered a genuine friend?

Nothing.

* * *

><p>Finn had cried for a long, long time.<p>

He didn't know what he thought. Some people were saying that Kurt had killed himself. Some people thought that he'd run away. Some people even thought that someone else had killed him, probably for being gay.

How could Finn know what he thought when there wasn't a single arrow to point him in the right direction?

How could he think _anything_ when, while still mourning Burt, his mother cried endlessly for the boy who'd seemingly followed him?

It got to the point that it had all just made Finn furious because Kurt would probably have become his brother, and all the stories on television were trying to make money off of him and stir the pot. To them, Kurt was the tragic poster child for intolerance and the face of the government letting children slip through the cracks.

They didn't know him at all, didn't know how carefully he chose his clothes to match _exactly_ how he was feeling that day or what he liked to eat for breakfast or how he lit up and smiled when Brittany walked into a room. Finn would regret forever that, minus the last one, he'd never know either.

* * *

><p>Rachel was sure that Kurt had been murdered because he was way too strong to have killed himself.<p>

He hadn't been strong at all right before his disappearance, but Kurt had his pride even at his worst and somehow, she just knew that it wasn't something that he would have done.

On the flipside, Rachel was capable of rationality and she knew that there was no way that Kurt could have physically carried his entire wardrobe out of that house. She'd seen his wardrobe; his collection of shoes alone would have broken a couple of moving men.

Foul play didn't explain Kurt's disappearing wardrobe, but hell, it made more sense than suicide because it at least had monetary value; what good would it do Kurt in the afterlife?

The first time Rachel met Blaine was at Sectionals, and all of them were feeling low and unmotivated. Rachel met that boy and knew, _knew_ that Kurt would have liked him. That was what had motivated her to put aside her feelings of competition and introduce herself before they performed, sticking her hand out to grip his tightly. His hands had been large and warm and he'd shaken hers fearlessly, grip firm and shameless.

Kurt would definitely have liked this boy.

Somehow, she'd already failed Kurt.

Maybe if she tried, she could take care of Blaine.

* * *

><p>Santana cried once, just once.<p>

She didn't cry when she heard the news of Kurt's disappearance. She didn't cry the next day in glee club when almost everyone else was sobbing like babies. She didn't cry when everyone eventually gave up and held a small, private funeral for him that Mercedes threw a fit over and refused to go to. It wasn't when they won Sectionals and Berry broke down in a tiny, scrunched-in little heap on the stage.

Santana Lopez cried just once, late at night.

She called Brittany who hadn't sounded at all like she had even been sleeping and openly bawled into the receiver, not even hearing the comforting words that filtered through it.

Santana cried only once.

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><p>Brittany didn't cry because she knew that Kurt wasn't dead, just gone.<p>

She didn't bother to say this because no one would ever believe her, not even Sanny, but Brittany just knew that her gorgeous and favorite ex-boyfriend was somewhere better and that somewhere was absolutely not the afterlife.

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><p>AN2: Once again, my apologies for the brevity. As always, please leave me feedback if you liked this, are liking it, still like, or even if you hate it, that's fine too.<p> 


	10. Libretto

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Just to let you kids know, this is a <strong>time skip<strong>_**. **_I repeat: **time skip**. Thank you for all the lovely comments on the last chapter! Seriously, they make me so, so, _so_ happy, and help keep me motivated to give you updates quickly. If you've read my story **Songbird**, then you'll know exactly inspiring feedback is for me.

On that note, I'm truly amazed at how many people unfamiliar with Doctor Who that I've been able to pull into this fic, and I'm happy that I've been able to keep this story from being complicated to the point that it's impossible for non-Whovians to read, nor too idiot-proof that people familiar with the series are like ASDFGHJKL; WHY GOD WHY.

Tl;dr: I LOVE YOU KIDS SO MUCH.

**NOTE: ** Bad Wolf happened as it did in canon. We are now working with the Tenth Doctor.

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><p>Chapter Ten: Libretto<p>

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><p>"Okay, so. When and where are we this time?" Kurt asked, stepping out of the TARDIS into the bright summer sunshine. Rose popped out after him and the Doctor followed her, raking his hands through his spiky hair and stretching his arms over his head as if he'd been horribly cramped.<p>

"Oh, I dunno. I was thinking we'd try that Peru trip that we never got around to; we're supposed to be in year 3213, Lima—what?"

Kurt had frozen.

He looked up the street.

He looked down the street.

Slowly, oh-so slowly he turned to face the Doctor, who just stared at him.

"What, seriously? There something on my face or have you fallen madly in lust with me?"

"I think you need to have a talk with the TARDIS, because she either has a thing against Peru or thinks that I'm much more of a masochist than I actually am," Kurt said, nervously tugging on the lapels of the close-fitting, sleeveless tailcoat that he'd stolen out of the wardrobe room. "Look at where we are. This is _not_ Peru."

"What? Of course it's Peru—"

But now Rose was looking around too and was now wearing her classic oh-shit face because really, what else could you do?

Kurt looked and felt like he was going to be sick.

"Welcome back," he muttered reluctantly, "Kurt Hummel's back in Lima, Ohio. Judging from the fact that you _landed behind my house_, I'm willing to put money on the fact that you're at least a millennium off, give or take a couple of years."

"Kurt?" Rose approached, settling a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, "You want to hop back in the TARDIS and try again?" Kurt had just begun to nod when the Doctor interrupted him, practically bouncing on his heels.

"No, no, no. You know that feeling that you're going to need to _do_ something even though you really have no idea what you're supposed to be doing? That feeling that something bad's going to happen that we need to be here for?"

"I _hate_ that feeling," Kurt groused, scowling down at the ground. "That feeling sucks and never goes anywhere good. You guys can stick around and do whatever, I'm going back inside and not coming out until we're ready to go."

"You know that you might be here for a reason?"

"Don't care."

"You probably should."

"Still don't care."

"You're a horribly negative child," The Doctor chided.

Kurt sighed and leaned up against the blue box, scuffing the remnants of his backyard with his boot. It was like nothing had changed, which was disturbing enough on its own. Minus the fact that the foliage was overgrown and dead by turn, it was literally as if he'd never left. The street signs looked the same, the fencing looked the same, hell, the freaking _sky_ still looked the same. That at least shouldn't have surprised him, but that was neither here nor there.

He didn't want to be here.

The Doctor sighed.

"Well, go grab a paper so we can figure out _when_ we are, at least," the Doctor amended, "I'll try and figure out what's going on with the lady. You and Rose go together since she's the one with the—" He was interrupted by Kurt's face draining of all color. "What is it?"

A buzzing noise was emanating from his back pocket, where he kept his phone even now out of habit because even though it wasn't a superphone, it still felt weird as all hell to not keep it on him. It was ringing now, loud and insistent. Numbly, Kurt pulled it out, terrified to see what it would show.

One thousand texts, inbox at maximum capacity.

Seven hundred and fifty-nine missed calls.

Eighty-three voicemails.

Kurt's hands began to shake and he couldn't turn the device off fast enough, not even bothering to put it back in his pants but practically throwing it back inside the TARDIS as if it had burned him.

"No, no, no, no, _no_," he muttered under his breath, unconsciously beginning to pace the length of the fence, still concealed from the street. "No, no, let's get out of here, _please_ can we leave?" Kurt pleaded, voice tight and tense. The Doctor's face was unreadable but Rose's was showing unreserved concern, and she stepped forward to take him by the arm to stop his pacing.

"Hey," she said lowly, "Calm down. Don't freak, it's okay. Look, you know your way around, right? Let's just take some back streets and find a newspaper, figure out when we are, and go from there."

"If it makes you feel better," The Doctor told him, "You don't even have to have to leave the TARDIS while we're here. Just go out now and get a paper, and we'll be out of here quicker than you can say flufflemudgeon."

"…flufflemudgeon," Kurt mumbled, "Why are we still here? And what in the hell is a flufflemudgeon?"

The Doctor snorted.

"If you must know, it's a little yellow bird with chompers the size of your head that likes its meat well done. And of course it's not going to work; you haven't left yet. Now go on, chop chop."

Kurt settled a pair of sunglasses on his face and fidgeted while the Doctor exchanged a few words with Rose before clapping them both on the shoulders.

"Be quick, then."

Kurt was more than happy to oblige _that_ one even though he couldn't resist a parting a parting shot of,

"Flufflemudgeon, we're still here!" the second he was out of eyeshot.

* * *

><p>It was May 25th, 2011, and Kurt Hummel was staring, dumbstruck, at his own missing persons flier.<p>

He couldn't help but note that it was a horrible photo, taken of him from sophomore year when he'd just gotten into Oxfords and rolled-up pant legs. Kurt sneered just the tiniest bit. Seriously, they couldn't pick a better picture? Idly, he wondered who had chosen this one as the epitome of 'Kurt' if they happened to run into him on the street.

While Kurt was lamenting the mediocrity of his photo and trying to be inconspicuous, Rose had yanked the flier off of the pole and was examining it.

She made a face.

"Seriously? You didn't look like this when I met you, why would they…?"

"Who knows? Latent sadism?"

"And what the hell are you wearing? I think those pants are a cardinal sin."

Kurt bristled.

"I was young and impressionable. And they were a statement!"

"Of what, lame?" she teased and knocked him with her shoulder, giggling unabashedly when he scowled at her and bumped her right back without thinking about it. An insult like that just could _not_ go unpunished. If it had been the Doctor to say it, Kurt probably would have had his hands buried in that meticulously-styled why-no-my-hair-totally-just-does-this-naturally mop of his and undone all of his work.

There was an advantage to being shamelessly vain, and that advantage was the ability to recognize vanity in others. The Doctor might not care about getting his hands dirty or getting covered in sludge, but he had a _thing_ about his hair. Kurt could relate and empathize but it was still a fitting payback for all the hair-ruining ruffles he'd gotten back when the man was practically bald.

"Absolutely not, Rose Tyler," He admonished, blue eyes sparking with fun over his sunglasses, "We are not doing this when you're wearing _that_, it just makes it too easy for me," He dodged another shove, "I have been many things in my life but lame has _never_ been one of them. When we get back to the TARDIS, remind me to touch up your—"

And then he tensed and went completely still, paling rapidly, because a hand that definitely did not belong to Rose had landed on his arm.

* * *

><p>It had started with an errand.<p>

Mercedes had always liked the fact that her house was in walking distance to the convenience store but the flipside of that happy coin was that it was a good excuse to send her out for errands. Need another box of cereal? Make Mercedes go get it. Need some band-aids? Make Mercedes go get it. Need some…

Well, it was always one thing or another.

Today it was chips.

Mercedes swung her purse as she walked, taking in the summer sun that wasn't sticky or stifling yet. Most of the time, she'd have complained more about playing messenger girl but it was the end of the school year and final exams were giving everyone panic attacks and Mercedes was grateful for the break, even if she hated to sweat.

Just as she passed the gas station a couple of figures standing by the telephone pole caught her attention.

Lima was a small town, not completely podunk but still small enough that most people knew most people, if not by name or face but by gossip and word of mouth.

The first thought that came to Mercedes' brain was that these people were _not_ from around here.

The girl, mid-height and blonde and very British had taken the poster off of the pole (how dare she, even though Mercedes hurt every time she walked past it) and was clearly commenting on it, judging by the laughter in her voice and the hand gestures she made. The boy with her, tall and willowy and with his back to her, clearly replied to her but softly, and Mercedes couldn't overhear what he said or make out what his voice sounded like.

The girl who wore a simple green hoodie, blue jeans, and sneakers might have passed for a local until she opened her mouth, but the boy…no, the only kid in Lima who _might_ have been ballsy enough to wear what that boy was wearing would have been Kurt. She couldn't see his front but the back showed cherry red skinny jeans crossed at the hips with a set of three black belts and a black sleeveless tailcoat. His left arm was wrapped up in something bright red and while his companion wore sneakers, this boy wore flat-heeled dove grey boots that stopped just before they hit the knee.

Mercedes didn't know why she had stopped.

It was just a couple of tourists (who'd stop here, though?) whose interests had been caught by Kurt's missing person flier.

That was it.

So why wasn't she walking away?

She still stood there, though, fixated on two people whose faces she couldn't even see.

There was something about that boy that drew her in and reminded her intensely of Kurt if he'd been a few years older, a few years stronger, a few years taller.

Mercedes didn't walk away. She knew that she must have looked so stupid, standing there gaping in the middle of the sidewalk, but she suddenly and very desperately wanted to see that boy's face. Needed to see his face. She knew it wasn't him, couldn't possibly be him because Kurt had disappeared in the middle of winter and it was now just barely creeping into summer and this boy had to be at least another growth spurt older, but _still_.

That hope that she'd never had the heart to kill was stirring in her stomach and doing this was a terrible idea because she'd just end up running home, unable to take the disappointment.

Steps quick and light before she lost her nerve, Mercedes approached the pair from behind and extended a hand to wrap fingers around the boy's bare arm. Before she could blink, muscles had tensed under her hand and he'd whirled around.

Sunglasses slipped down and revealed blue eyes. Blue eyes that were wide and horrified and showing absolute shock.

Mercedes _knew_ those eyes.

Her vision swam and a hand reached out to steady her; the girl.

Kurt –no, no, no, it couldn't possibly be Kurt, no, no- the too-tall boy wearing Kurt's face was stark white in that way that Kurt had always gone when he hit the threshold for fear and his hands were shaking and pushing the sunglasses back up onto his nose.

Mercedes couldn't take her eyes off of him.

The girl had let go and was approaching Not-Kurt to steady him too, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing firmly.

"_Kurt_…?" Mercedes breathed, voice a whisper, frail and brittle and disbelieving with shock and hurt.

"No, no. You've got—you've got the wrong person. I'm sor—"

The boy flinched as if physically struck and slowly, so slowly began backing away, slow steps getting longer and faster until he broke all contact with the blonde to take off running. Casting one last concerned glance over Mercedes, the blonde girl turned and sprinted after him.

She didn't call his name but she didn't need to.

Mercedes sunk to the ground, suddenly weak and woozy.

* * *

><p>Breathing heavy, Kurt flung open the doors to the TARDIS and practically slammed them closed on Rose who'd managed to keep up with him but who was now doubled over and clutching her side.<p>

The Doctor popped up from behind the console and looked them over, cocking his head with concern.

"You both look like you've done a marathon or five—well, hello there, have a good trip?" he commented when Kurt lifted his head to stare at him and then not two seconds later darted across the room to pitch his arms around the lanky man's shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Easy, easy, calm down," he crooned, expression quizzical but tone relatively calm as he ran a hand over the teenager's hair, "You're safe in here, calm down and breathe before you hyperventilate and pass out on the floor, thank you," He turned to Rose and opened an arm for her too, which she unthinkingly stepped into. "What happened?"

"Someone recognized him," she muttered, pulling back and rubbing the back of her head.

"You guys can party here all you want, I'm not leaving this time machine until we're at least a couple of hundred years in the future and across the planet," Kurt commented into the crook of the Doctor's neck, voice muffled. "No way, no how, not happening."

* * *

><p>"Not much happens here, does it?" the Doctor commented idly later that day, walking down the street with Rose. Her arm looped easily with his, and the novelty of being in a new place had very quickly worn off with the re-realization that Kurt hadn't just been being dramatic when he said that there was <em>nothing<em> to do here.

It was a significant downgrade from landless planets covered in water, from canyons inhabited by flying stingrays, from Earth's fourth millennium, from Hawaii.

Hell, it was even a downgrade from Rose's own beloved but a tad mundane London, where any draws for tourists had been dulled by a lifetime of being a local. She'd seen the tourists' wide eyes, the tour groups, heard the different accents, and the exclamations that had always made her laugh because what was so special about London?

There were no tourists here.

No flying stingrays, either.

Compared to this place, her home was downright exciting.

_Definitely_ a downgrade.

"So, what exactly are we looking for with this 'feeling' of yours?" Rose asked, giving the Doctor's arm a light tug. "Sonic screwdriver scanning? Investigating? Long walk on the beach—oh wait, Ohio. No coastline. Forget that." He shrugged at her.

"I don't know. By the way, there's kind of a beach if you head north to one of the Great Lakes."

"You don't know." Why was she even surprised anymore? None of them ever knew until someone died or ran by, screaming, or disappeared, or suddenly started breathing blue smoke and killing off their family members.

"Nope. Don't know. Not a clue," the Doctor continued, not disconcerted by this fact in the slightest.

"So what are we gonna do about it?"

He smiled widely at her, popping a dimple in his cheek.

"First, we're going to ask a local where the best place to eat in town is."

"Yes, and then?"

"And then we'll eat there, grab something in a doggie bag for Kurt, and then head back to the TARDIS."

Rose sighed, smiling wryly. No, she wasn't surprised at all. Well, if there was going to be trouble (and it seemed like there was almost always trouble), it'd likely find them sooner or later. Preferably later, because Rose was starving. The streets were quiet but eventually they caught sight of a tall, blonde boy walking in the opposite direction, approaching them.

The Doctor perked up.

"Let's ask him," he said rapidly, speeding up, "He looks like he'd know a good spot to have a bite. Excuse me, young man, excuse me," he called out, waving his free arm wildly, catching the boy's attention. The boy sped up to meet them. "Could we ask a question?"

The boy cocked his head at the Doctor's accent.

"Sure, if I can answer."

"Where's the best place in town to eat? My companion and I are feeling rather famished but we're new to the area. Any opinions?"

The boy beamed, absently running a hand through his hair. Rose had the suspicion that that color wasn't quite natural, in the instincts of one not-quite blonde to a probable compatriot.

"Oh yeah, definitely! You'll want to go to Breadstix. The food's pretty decent, but the breadsticks are the best, salty and garlicky, and my friend Santana once tried to eat through a wheelbarrow of them." The Doctor's eyes lit up.

"Oh? And did she make it?"

The boy grinned.

"Nearly. Probably would have if the cheerleading coach hadn't shown up and given her hell for carb loading."

The Doctor saluted with flourish.

"Lovely, we'll have to take your advice." He turned to Rose, straightening up and grinning at her. "Come then, allons-y!"

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><p>AN2: And there's chapter ten for you lovely people. As always, reviews are wonderful, whether you liked this or disliked it. I'm a writer who likes to improve, so I'm always open to criticism. Unless they have to do with my chapter length, which isn't going to change anytime soon. Thank you for reading!<p> 


	11. Vibrato

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: ACTION CHAPTER TIME. Be happy! Thank you so, so much for your reviews and the alerts I've gotten recently from people, they really help keep my motivation up and inspire me to write faster! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.<p>

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><p>Chapter Eleven: Vibrato<p>

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><p>There were still a fair amount of nights that Kurt just couldn't sleep.<p>

This was one of them.

Most of the time, it was easy enough to find something to do until he wore himself out, whether it was wandering around until he found the Doctor or just exploring the TARDIS because it never seemed like he'd ever be able to see all of it.

This was not one of them.

The food had been nostalgic and painfully familiar and despite the fact that the breadsticks alone cost him about seven hundred calories before he even touched the food itself, he'd devoured every last bit of it. Kurt's phone had sat, untouched and turned off in the corner of the TARDIS because he couldn't even stand to look at it, not like this when he was suddenly feeling so deeply the magnitude at what he'd done.

Tonight, he'd stopped Rose in the hallway just before she entered her bedroom and hugged her tightly. Kurt hadn't been able to explain it because he couldn't put that feeling into words, the disconnect and the tightness in his chest that he couldn't loosen. The girl had blinked but returned the hug, and Kurt realized with a start that there had been absolutely no hesitation in the gesture. There was no uneasiness, no split-second freeze that he'd so gotten used to that meant that she was debating anything at all in whether or not she wanted to return it. It had been _easy_. He'd reached out to her and she'd reached out right back to him.

Like he really, _really_ belonged.

When had that happened and why hadn't he noticed?

Being back here now, the fact that he was so noticeably uneven was the weirdest thing. It had been almost two years for him but only six months had passed here, and seeing Mercedes, essentially untouched by age had nailed it straight home. He was taller, _older_. He had over a year and a half on everyone he'd known and left and that left him cold and uneasy.

He'd been younger than Finn, now he was definitely older.

At least he'd never be taller.

The sudden and altogether unexpected age gap wasn't the only thing setting him on edge. The look on Mercedes' face felt like it had been burned into his retinas, hurt and shocked and completely disbelieving. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about what he was doing when he left. Kurt Hummel had walked into the TARDIS with the complete understanding that he was leaving for good.

He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, but…

_If it's you or them, choose you_.

He hadn't thought about it at the time, but hadn't that been what he'd been doing? Kurt wanted to live, and what he was doing when he first met Rose and the Doctor…that wasn't living. That wasn't anywhere close to living. It wasn't even a sense of stagnation; it was a _decline_, slow and steady like a beach eroded by the waves, each one dragging off a few grains with every tug.

_If it's you or them, choose you_.

From where he sat in the library, his pants rolled up to the knees and his legs swishing lazily in the pool, Kurt couldn't help the dry smile that tugged at his lips.

He hadn't ever thought of it in terms of him or them, but wasn't it true? He'd chosen himself and in turn sacrificed his relationships with the people he already treasured because if he didn't, he would have undoubtedly died.

"If it's you or them, choose you…"

"Good advice."

Kurt jumped and whipped his head, coming face to face with the Doctor, who didn't look surprised in the slightest. Most of the time when he couldn't sleep, he sought out the Doctor. This time, the Doctor had found him.

"I was waiting for you, you know," the man informed him, "Saved all the best panel-whacking and everything. Don't be rude and leave a man hanging."

"How'd you know I'd be up?"

The Doctor snorted and approached, shrugging off his coat to roll up his own pants to dunk his feet in.

"Please, who do you take me for? You forget that I've met you before. A blind, deaf, and dumb monkey with no thumbs at all would have known that you'd be awake," His voice bore no room for argument and Kurt grinned, more than a little bit sheepish.

"Point more than taken."

"Who gave you that advice?" the Doctor asked plainly, and it was at times like this that Kurt realized that despite the very stark differences between the Doctor he'd first met and the Doctor in front of him now, the man was essentially himself. A different face and a different voice and a different body… even a different personality didn't change what made him himself. He didn't like subtlety and beating around the bush and he asked questions fearlessly, a trait that Kurt couldn't help but admire in him.

"My father."

It had taken a long, long time for Kurt to even be able to mention the man, and even now, that familiar heaviness began to settle in his stomach. Time had passed, but _oh_ Kurt missed him. Time had passed, but not a single day would ever pass in which Kurt wouldn't miss Burt Hummel.

"It was originally about the bullying. He worried that… that if I was ever in a fight, I wouldn't be able to defend myself. Or that… or that I'd be too afraid to hurt someone that I'd let myself get hurt instead." Blue eyes darkened and Kurt stared intently at the water, watching it ripple around his legs. "I was just realizing that it's been my credo for longer than I thought."

For a while, the Doctor didn't reply, settling instead for stilling his legs and wiggling his toes.

"Good man, your Da. Knew what was important," he said eventually, words steady and tone oddly subdued compared to his normal lilt.

For a good minute and a half, Kurt sat silently, throat insistently choked and eyes unnaturally shiny with unshed tears.

Two years ago, he might have thrown something because his reaction would have been angry and furious and he would have been looking for any outlet at all to take it out on. A year ago, he probably would have turned away and said nothing, only letting himself cry through it later when he was alone. Now, Kurt forced in a breath that wavered and shook and _hurt_ and kept his eyes lowered, but he smiled. Sadly, but there was a warmth that had taken so long to return to him that he never thought he'd get back.

In those three months, Kurt had been asked endlessly when he thought he'd be able to talk, that everyone would be there waiting for him when he was ready, when would he be ready? He wondered if he hadn't made the decision to walk through those blue doors, if anyone would have actually waited for two years for him to be ready.

But someone _was_ there and had waited for him to be ready for the two years that it had taken, with scowls and eyerolls and smiles and hair rubs and hand squeezes and blessed silence on the edge of a swimming pool, and Kurt smiled.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice light and airy, "Yeah, he did."

And the Doctor smiled back, wide and slow and honest and all Kurt could think was _damn_, the man was wonderful. All of him, the one with him now with a ridiculously contagious giggle who was vain about his hair and often spoke before he thought and the one with too-big ears and an excessive love for banana bread and who Kurt had never, ever wanted to say goodbye to, and probably those who had come before that he'd never get the chance to know.

"He'd have liked you," Kurt continued, just a tiny bit shakily. A hand, long and thin and strong, reached out to pat him on the arm. Encouraging. "Both of you. You'd have driven him nuts, but he'd have liked you anyway. Jack would have scared him out of his tree, though. I think…"

"…yes?"

"I think he'd be happy," Kurt whispered, "I think he'd be happy that I've… that I've decided to try and be happy. Since I can't bring him back. Since neither of us could bring Mom back… I think he'd be happy if I was happy."

That sincere smile never once left the Doctor's face.

"I think you're right, Kurt. I think he'd be very, very happy."

* * *

><p>"You know that bad feeling I had when we landed? I think we just found the source."<p>

Trouble absolutely found them just as Rose knew that it would.

It wasn't in the form of zombies walking the streets or mass hysteria, though if anyone had actually been around, there probably would have been a stampede of people running like there was no tomorrow.

Trouble came in the form of a dead body the very next day, sitting upright on a park bench and staring blankly forward.

Rose yelped and hung back but the Doctor, not nearly so squeamish (or squeamish at all, really) approached without hesitation, sitting next to the body on the bench as if about to ask about the weather. If he'd actually done that, Rose thought she might have had to smack him one.

"No life signs, no external cause of death—hold on," the Doctor leaned in closer and examined the corpse's neck, "Scratch that, there's an injection site on the throat, possibility of poisoning…"

"Please, please, please don't lick it," Rose warned, properly wary, only to receive an eyeroll.

"Oh, for the love of— What kind of person do you take me for? I'm over nine hundred, not two."

"Someone with an oral fixation who tends to test things by putting them in his mouth," the girl replied bluntly and without hesitation, "Please don't."

The Doctor huffed but brought out the sonic screwdriver, activating it before beginning to run it over the body in a scan.

"Ah, here we go! Definitely some sort of toxin, appears to be instantly fatal to the human form so do try your best to not expose yourself… no idea on the effectiveness on Time Lords."

"Any idea on what sort of thing has a poison like that?" Rose asked, creeping closer to get a better look. She'd seen more than her share of dead bodies but this was just creepy, all pasty pale and sitting up like that. There was an open book next to him and her stomach jumped; he'd just been sitting there and reading, when some… thing had just come up and injected him with some sort of fast-acting poison.

Creepy.

Suddenly, she sniffed.

"Doctor, do you smell…?" she began, and the Doctor's nostrils flared, testing the air.

"Hmmm, very interesting. And _distinctive_ but I just can't put my nose on it—"

"Corn chips. We're smelling corn chips. What the blazes goes around leaving residue that smells like corn chips?"

The Doctor rubbed his chin, eyebrows furrowing.

"A lot of things, actually. The bacterium _Proteus_ tends to give off a scent much like sweet tortillas, as do a lot of yeasts. Dogs are particularly prone to it. But it's almost never this strong…hmmm. _Interesting_." Leaning away from the body, the Doctor waved the screwdriver in an arc to take in the surrounding air, "It's definitely some sort of residue or trail, but it's been too long, it's gone cold."

Rose grimaced.

"What do we do about the body?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"What do we usually do?"

The blonde rubbed her temples, chewing absently on her lower lip. It figured.

"If they're not spewing blue gas, we usually leave the poor bloke for the force to deal with and head back to make a plan."

"Smart girl."

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><p>"Why am I not surprised at all that there are dead bodies?"<p>

"Because you've been with us for way too long and have gotten used to horrible things."

"Hmmmm, true. Well, the food's good at least."

"Hmmmm, true."

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><p>Sitting alone in the TARDIS at about three the next afternoon, Kurt glared angrily at his phone.<p>

Most of the time, he tried his best to avoid regretting the things he did or didn't do.

Most of the time, it worked.

Now, after spending the last couple of afternoons by himself while his companions investigated, Kurt was seriously beginning to regret that little decision. It wasn't that he suddenly wanted to go outside or that the thought of being recognized again was a tempting one, it was simply that he couldn't stand them going off into danger without him.

And it _was_ danger.

It might have only been Lima, but it was dangerous now and Kurt didn't know what good he'd be, but he knew that he didn't want them going off without him.

He continued to glare at his phone, and Kurt was pretty sure that if it could glare back at him, it probably would have been.

The clock on the wall (damnit Rose, why'd you have to put a clock in a _time machine_?) ticked loudly, and Kurt clenched his hands, white-knuckled, into the fabric of his shirt.

A minute ticked by.

Then two.

Then…

"Oh, hell," Kurt growled, lashing a hand out to grab his phone and flicking it on. He bypassed the texts and missed calls and voicemails because he was simply not ready to deal with those yet and dialed in a number.

"_Hello?"_

"Rose, it's me. Where are you guys? I can't stand this, I'm going to come find you."

"_We're at the—"_ the girl cut off when a jumble of words in the background that could only be the Doctor interrupted her, _"_Crap_. We've got another body. Doctor, how fresh is it—?"_

There was a clicking that could only be the sound of the phone changing hands and the voice coming through the receiver changed.

"_Kurt?"_ the Doctor said, _"We're in the park, between Main Street and Martin Circle. I just did a scan, there's more than one of these things running around; there's a diverging trail coming from the body, one going south and the other's heading east. Whatever this thing is attracted to large groups of people,"_ The sound of quick footsteps could be heard from the other line,_ "Rose and I are going after one heading south, I need you to track the one going east—"_

Kurt's brain had shut off.

Large groups of people, east of Main and Martin…

The place with the most people that was set east of Main and Martin at this time of day was…

William McKinley High School.

_Shit._

"_Go into the armory and bring a weapon just to be safe; if you find it, whatever you do, do _not_ let it close to you. You'll know where it's going by the scent it leaves behind, like corn chips. Rose and I will meet up with you as soon as we can, just try and keep it from killing people…"_

Kurt was already half flying down the hallway to fling open the door to the armory, grabbing a sheathed short sword to strap into his belt in one hand and a blaster that he had some experience with in the other. He didn't wait to hear the rest of what the Doctor said before hanging up and jamming his phone into his pocket.

The TARDIS key was heavy on the chain around his neck and Kurt didn't think twice about where he was going.

He didn't think twice about what he was doing either.

There was some kind of people-poisoning monster on the loose that was heading in the direction of the high school and he didn't even think about what he was doing. Kurt didn't register sprinting down the streets and muscle memory kept him focused on where he going.

Corn chips, corn chips, corn chips…

There it was, salty and familiar and kind of gross like the boy's locker room and Finn's cleats.

The closer he got, the more intense the scent became and a cold began to slip into Kurt's stomach because sometimes he _really_ hated being right and right then, he might have given about anything to have been wrong.

He didn't stop until he hit the front doors, doors that he hadn't seen, never mind touched, in about two years.

He flung them open and slipped inside.

The halls were silent and Kurt silenced his footsteps to match. He could see kids, inattentive and bored, in the classrooms.

Okay, so no one here had died yet.

God, the scent was strong.

Breath haggard, Kurt followed it.

God, what was he doing? He didn't even know what he was looking for. He didn't know where it was or what it looked like, whether it had teeth or claws, what it wanted, what it was weak to. He didn't know whether the blaster would even be effective or whether he would have been better off to punch the thing in the nose.

Briefly, he considered leaving and trying to hunt down the Doctor because what in the hell was he even doing here?

There was a rustle, a clink, and the smell got stronger.

Damnit.

He followed his nose, down the halls and past lockers (past Mercedes' locker, past his own locker, _God_ that was weird) and through more halls. Whatever he was tracking didn't make another noise but hell, he could smell it. If he got out of this all in one piece, Kurt was going to start calling himself Toucan Sam because he was damn good at this.

It was also time for another one of those stimulating introspections on where his survival instincts had gone. No one sane went chasing after unknown killer monsters.

Seriously.

Someone came around the hallway and Kurt ducked into the girl's restroom for a split second until it passed, continuing on his way.

The path was disturbingly familiar. And Kurt began to freeze when he realized where his steps were leading him.

The choir room.

Shit, the choir room.

Glee was last period.

Hell.

He could see the door from here, and he saw it open just the tiniest bit and silently click shut.

Hell, hell, _hell_.

Kurt steeled himself and didn't hesitate when he hit the door, slamming it open with an impressive crash and skidding inside, coming face to face with thirteen pairs of shocked, stunned eyes.

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><p>AN2: TIME TO CLIFFHANGER THE CRAP OUT OF YOU. No regrets, just love. If I don't get at least a few ragey reviews, I will be sorely disappointed. Rage aside, though, please leave feedback if you liked this or just want to wring my neck with how this is going. Thank you for reading!<p> 


	12. Requiem

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Happy Thanksgiving to my American peeps! Eat lots of pie. I was going to not post this yet but considering the fact that I have nothing to do but babysit the turkey in my oven for another two hours, why the hell not?<p>

Thank you so much for all of your reviews on the last chapter. It seemed to go over well, even though I think most of you wanted me dead for leaving it like that. I love you kids!

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><p>Chapter 12: Requiem<p>

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><p>"Hey, do you smell Fritos?" Finn asked absently, right as Mr. Schue straightened up to start talking about their final assignment for the year.<p>

Rachel never answered him because the door was practically ripped off of its hinges and a figure flung himself into the room, breathing heavy and staring around, blue eyes wide.

For about a minute, no one breathed because it had been one thing for Mercedes to catch a quick glimpse of him with sunglasses on and trying to be incognito but now that there was time, it couldn't be more obvious as to who exactly it was.

Those blue eyes so familiar and all Finn could think was how on earth Kurt had managed to get so tall and grow into himself in such a short period of time.

"Kurt—?" Rachel exclaimed in shock, clambering to her feet, and Kurt raised a hand and hissed at her,

"Be silent. Talk later. Right now, I'm here to keep you from all getting killed."

"What do you…?"

"Rachel Berry, _shut up right now_, I'm _busy_ and I need to think. For once in your life, just be quiet and I will get to you when I get to you," Kurt snarled, tense and wary and absolutely out of his depth.

Kurt scanned the room. The smell was almost overpowering to the point that he couldn't even tell anymore where it was coming from and he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. It had to be here, though. He'd seen the door open, and…

One hand traveled to the gun at his hip.

Thirty seconds passed and he paced once, very slowly around the room.

It was here, it had to be here, he knew it had to be here, but _where_?

He sniffed and stilled to stand as a statue, unmoving.

It was here.

No one breathed, no one spoke, no one even blinked.

And then something touched his neck, a breath hot and sticky and wet and Kurt whipped around, lashing out with a fist that had learned to not pull punches anymore. There was a pained yelp and he hit something and the image of the room in front of him flickered like a television on the fritz and finally faded, and Kurt suddenly knew _exactly_ what he'd been hunting.

The creature was small and lithe, only about four feet tall, built like a hollow-eyed bipedal dog but with beige scales instead of fur. Behind it, a tail that had to be longer than six feet swayed, topped with a stinger like a scorpion's, thin and wickedly sharp.

Dogs, bacteria that smelled like tortillas, a canine form. It exclaimed the corn chip smell, at least.

Kurt dragged in a breath.

"You douchebag, where'd you get a cloaking device?"

The creature growled.

And Kurt shot, whipping out the blaster with only the slightest hesitation and aiming right for the eyes. The brief moment of hesitation was enough though and the thing managed to dodge, darting away to scramble to the walls, crawling on them like a gecko.

"What do you _want_?" Kurt asked and received only a growl in reply, "Why are you doing this? You've left bodies everywhere, you and your little scaly friends. What the hell are you playing?"

A hiss answered him and it took Kurt a second to realize that it wasn't just a hiss, it was _words_. Thank you, TARDIS.

"Liessssss," it hissed, voice high and vaguely reptilian, "Liessss, liessssss."

"What about lies?" Kurt demanded, and the creature dropped down to the floor, tail arching in a threat over its head, "What are you talking about?"

"Liessssss."

They circled each other like a couple of prize fighters, Kurt never lowering the gun in his hand. Somehow, he didn't think that the sword would be too useful for this.

"Time jumper," it began again, "I did not predict the lasssst Time Lord, the Oncoming Sstorm to be ssso… sssmall. You will be eassssier than we thought."

Along with that mental note to examine his sanity closely, Kurt made a check in the little box that marked off suicidal tendencies as well for what he was going to do.

"What, you think I'm little?" he postured, forcing bravado that he didn't feel into his voice, "I'm over nine hundred years old and I have more power in my pinky than you could ever dream to have. What do you think you can do to me?" The creature had briefly turned its attention to the others in the room and Kurt panicked. Redirect, he had to redirect it, get its attention back on him.

If pretending to be the Doctor would make that happen, so be it.

The creature bristled and suddenly screeched furiously at him, flashing saliva-dripping teeth and a dark maw.

"Liessss!" it screamed at him, "Liesssss, Liessss!" And then it leapt for him, claws brandished like daggers and okay yeah, maybe the sword would come in handy. They missed him by an inch and Kurt held out the blade like a shield instead, its weight comfortable in his hand.

"What is with your fixation with lies?" the boy ground out, keeping an eye on the stinger. The claws and teeth were dangerous but clearly weren't the toxic bits. This assumption was made correct when it landed a hit on him and dug its teeth into his left shoulder, ripping through his jacket and the polo wraps on his arm and shaking him around like a rag doll.

It didn't let go until Kurt clobbered it right in the eye with the hilt of his sword, inspiring it to let him go by sending him flying across the room to slam into the wall.

_Ouch_.

Kurt knew better than to try and touch the wound or even look at it; he didn't have to see it to know that it was bleeding and that if he lived he'd have another set of marks to add to that arm.

Fucking lovely.

"I don't think you get it," he said, breaths coming in rattles and pain sending shocks through his body, "You really don't want to fuck with me. I am not having a good day and I _loved_ that jacket." He fired off another shot and missed, again.

His friends were huddled on the other side of the room and Kurt couldn't help but feel relieved because as long as this thing's attention was on him, it wasn't on them. He was armed, at least.

"Liessssss."

Kurt sneered, jutting out his jaw.

"What, you don't like lies? Is that why you're going after people? 'Cause teenagers lie more than almost anyone? I don't care how much they lie, you're not allowed to have any more people, especially not _these_ people," Slowly, his brain had begun to wrap around an idea, a crazy, stupid, probably suicidal kind of idea. "How's this one? I've got brown eyes."

The thing hissed and lashed out with a clawed limb, snarling angrily.

"Didn't like that?" Kurt taunted and the circling began again. Not for the first time the boy was grateful for being right-handed because at this rate, he'd have been so many kinds of screwed. "How's this? I've never been in this town before; I don't know _any_ of these people," The first reaction had been mild compared to this one that came with screaming that made his ears ache and that fatal tail coming much too close to comfort. It was almost like it was allergic to lies, and the more ludicrous and intense, the more intense and painful the reaction…

"Liesssss! Die for your liesss!"

"Not your choice to make! I'm not yours, they're not yours!" Kurt shouted back, eyes blazing, "Guess what? I'm _straight!_"

A scream of rage and a shudder that could have only come from pain was his reward and if Kurt hadn't been so focused on not dying, he probably would have done a war whoop.

"I've never lost anyone I loved, I've never thought I was going to die!" Kurt fired off, ignoring the gasps behind him and the blaring of his phone going off in his pocket, "I've never wanted to die, I've never felt guilty! I don't love the Doctor, I don't love Rose!"

The pained screaming got higher and louder and Kurt thought he was going to explode and the tail missed him again by an inch, just missing his throat.

It was a lucky break, but Kurt Hummel had never been lucky.

Seconds later, he found himself pinned to the ground with a set of teeth hovering just over his face.

"I'm straight, I'm straight, I'm straight," he chanted, "I lost my virginity to a _girl_!"

The flinch he got was enough to give him the chance to unthinkingly shove the sword up, up into the creature's mouth and up through the jaw, through the skull, until it came out the other end with a wet, squishing crunch. It thrashed and shrieked and finally stilled, collapsing on top of Kurt, who'd begun to shake.

All he could hear was the rushing in his head and his breathing, wispy and harsh and there wasn't enough air, not enough air in the world at all.

"Take that, Ohio," Kurt wheezed, half-hysterical and feeling kind of like he was going to be sick, "Kurt Hummel saves the world with the power of gay."

His phone was still going off and Kurt shouldered the dead beast off of him to grip the device with shaky fingers, answering the call.

"_We just got into the school building! Kurt, Kurt, these things are allergic to—"_

"Lies, I know," Was that really his voice? It sounded muted and far away, "Kind of ahead of you on this one. Score one for Kurt."

"_Is it—"_

"Dead? Yeah. Very, very dead."

"_Are you okay?"_

Rose had stolen the phone and for a moment, Kurt forgot that they couldn't see him and nodded before answering, still flat on his back in the middle of the choir room. No one dared to approach him, preferring for the time being to hug the walls. The scaly, dead dog-scorpion thing that Kurt had just stabbed through the head without a second thought probably had a lot to do with that.

"Somehow. No idea how that happened. I have got to be some kind of mental patient." There was a tap-tap-tap sounding off from somewhere outside and Kurt continued, "I can hear you guys. I'm in the choir room, third door on your left."

The door slammed open and Kurt thought that he'd never be so happy to see them. Rose shoved aside Finn, who sputtered indignantly at her, to kneel down next to Kurt. She caught sight of the body and cringed. The Doctor, on the other hand, simply whipped out the sonic screwdriver and went to town, scanning away with his duster pooling around his ankles.

"You've got blood in your eyes again," the girl said lowly, reaching out a hand to try and wipe it away. It was oil-based and just kind of smeared instead, feeling heavy and waxy on his skin. Kurt preferred to think of it as blood than the grey matter that currently coated his sword. "Sorry, I think I just made it worse."

"It's okay," Kurt whispered, "I think that's the least of my problems right now." He sat up and examined his shoulder, rotating it experimentally. Bad idea, that just made it hurt worse and bleed more. He winced. He'd lost more blood than he'd thought.

"What… what in the _hell_ is even going on here?" Mr. Schuester finally forced out, eyes impossibly wide, staring not at the carcass on the floor but at Kurt as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "_Kurt_?"

It was all hitting him now and Kurt finally raised his head and met their eyes, meeting shock and sadness and hurt with resignation and fear.

"Hello," he said finally, voice low, soft, and deceptively calm, "Long time no see."

All hell broke loose.

Kurt recoiled when a veritable stampede of people closed in on him. He didn't know he expected; hysterical hugs or a few punches to the face. Neither of those things would have been amiss or particularly unwarranted. Hands reached out to touch him but stopped just short, and Kurt looked up to see Mercedes in front of all of them, brown eyes shining with tears.

"Where have you _been_?" she whispered, "Where have you been? Why are you so… how'd you get so…"

Kurt's stomach roiled and he took one too many looks at the body, mangled and wicked, and found himself turning away from them all to bring up everything he'd eaten that day. Hands –the Doctor's hands because he didn't hesitate at all- had found their way to his shoulders and rubbed unflinchingly until he could straighten up. Grimacing slightly, Kurt wiped his mouth.

"I've been…" he began, shooting a nervous glance around him, "I've been on a trip. A very long trip."

"How could you do that, Kurt? How could you just up and leave everyone? We thought you were _dead_! How dare you!" Rachel interjected, brown eyes wide and furious.

_If it comes down to you or them, choose you._

"I chose me," Kurt replied quietly. "I wasn't…I wasn't in a good place. I needed the space, I needed the _time_."

"And who are you to judge?" the Doctor interjected suddenly, voice sharp and annoyed and disapproval showing in every line of him, "Seeing as you all did _such_ a great job about it."

There was a collective, bristling flinch.

"Oh, was that rude?"

"Yes," Kurt muttered, unable to help the involuntary twitching of his lips. Regally, the Doctor inclined his head.

"Good, it was meant to be. I've waited a long time to say that."

"Wait a second…" Sam said, almost accidentally, "You were the ones who asked me where the best place in town to eat was."

"And you-" Finn pointed at Rose, "I saw you a few days before he disappeared! You're kidnappers!"

Rose was about a half second from retaliating and probably throwing a punch but Kurt got there first, scrambling to his feet and approaching the people that he'd left.

"_Enough_," he said firmly. "No one kidnapped me. They opened the door, I walked through it." He would have said more, but there was an odd lightness in his head and Kurt didn't think that seeing spots whenever he moved was something that was supposed to happen. "…whoa. Maybe I should sit down. Oh hey…" His voice lightened right there with his head, "That's a lot of blood. That mine? No wonder I'm dizz—" And then he dropped where he stood and the voices only got louder.

* * *

><p>Oh god.<p>

Mr. Schue's sweater vests were showing up in his nightmares now.

That was the first thing that Kurt thought when he managed to open his eyes. For a few moments, all he could do was blink blearily and take in the surroundings to figure out where he was. Both arms and legs, check. Neck movement, check. Fingers and toes all wiggle, check. Face, not covered in blood. Awesome. Jacket…hell. Still totally covered in oil blood and ripped irreparably.

"Hey there," Rose was hovering over him, and now that Kurt thought about it, she was sitting in such a way that he could only be flopped in her lap and her hands were tangled in his hair. Embarrassing.

"The overgrown chameleon still dead?" Kurt asked into nothingness.

"As a doornail," the Doctor chirruped from the side, hand absently patting Kurt's cheek in a way that would have been condescending coming from anyone else, "Think you can sit up?"

"Head says no. Shoulder agrees and kind of doesn't want to live anymore."

"Too bad."

Oh, hey, glee director totally still there and looking at Kurt like he wasn't sure what kind of crazy he was. Join the club, Mr. Schue. Join the hell out of that club. Kurt was the goddamned _president_ of that club. Where were the rest of them?

His mental question was answered when another face joined Will's.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Mercedes' or Rachel's or even Finn's. Brittany just hovered for a little bit before dipping down, winding her arms around his neck and dropping a kiss, soft and sweet, onto his lips.

"Welcome back, Kurtsie, do you like your time machine?" she told him, and even though Kurt didn't believe in a god, he thanked _something_ for Brittany because he loved them all but he'd always been a sucker for her. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetheart,' Kurt found himself choking out, and for the love of everything, why was he having to fight to keep his lower lip from shaking and why did he feel like all he wanted to do was roll over and cry? "I really missed you."

"But you feel better now that you're older?" she asked, "Did you get your heart fixed?"

And now he really was crying just a little bit, softly and with intense restraint. Stifling any noises that threatened to make their way from his throat, Kurt just pressed his palms to his eyes.

If he'd had the energy, he would have sat up and seen the rest of his friends sitting wordlessly and pale-faced on the risers. He'd learn later, after he'd gotten some rest, futuristic heal-y things, and plenty of fluids, that they'd all essentially been rendered senseless after the Doctor hadn't been able to get out of giving some sort of explanation.

Kurt might have felt bad but he wasn't going to deny feeling relieved that he at least had been gloriously unconscious through the whole messy business that probably involved a lot of questions that no one wanted to answer and plenty of the Doctor's frustrated ranting.

When he could, Kurt lifted his head.

"Hey, Doctor? I'm sorry."

"For what?" the man replied, sounding curious.

"I totally just threw you under the bus in my head. Eternal apologies."

"Yeah, well. I'm not the one who looks like he got the business end of an alligator fight so I think we're even. You're also quite loopy right now."

Kurt snorted at him.

"I'm loopy. _I'm loopy_. Oh, that is just beautiful. The crazy time-travelling man is telling me that I'm loopy." Looking up, Kurt managed to catch an eyeful of the Doctor raising a single brow at him, resting his head on his hand.

"He's just a bit addled," he informed Mr. Schuester, who looked like he really, _really_ wanted to say something about this. No one should be allowed to sound quite so lofty, Kurt decided, especially considering the fact that he was basically petting Kurt's head at this point. "He'll be right as rain once he gets some legitimate medical treatment. Now, back to that plan to smuggle him out of this sprog-prison…"

"Did you know that rainbows are just half-loops?" Brittany spoke up, smiling. "Since you're Capital-G, you were already halfway there anyway."

All Kurt could do was laugh hysterically, pressing his cheek into the Doctor's palm.

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><p>Kurt had to admit that they at least ended up smuggling him out in style, after they'd extracted a promise that he knew he'd never be able to break that once he was coherent, they'd be having a very long talk. How many people got piggy-backed out of William McKinley in a bright pink beanie (thank you, Tina) and swaddled in a Time Lord's coat? Not many, he imagined. In fact, he was probably the first.<p>

Take that, Ohio.

That mental health examination would just have to wait, because all Kurt wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until the world made sense.

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><p>AN2: As always, please leave a comment is you enjoyed this or even if you want to drop kick me to the moon. You probably won't get very far though, because by the time this gets read, I'll probably have eaten my weight in pie.<p> 


	13. Ostinato

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you so much for all of your reviews on the last chapter! I appreciate every single one of them, and I hope you all continue to enjoy this.<p>

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><p>Chapter Thirteen: Ostinato<p>

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><p>It wasn't that Mercedes wasn't angry; she was. Intensely so, mostly because it felt like the floor had fallen out right from under her feet.<p>

She'd gone the last six months _mourning_. And then, BOOM, her best friend was back and she was watching him move and speak in a way she almost didn't recognize. The Kurt she'd known would never have done what he'd done, taunt something that was fully capable of killing him, slay something. He'd run from her, from them, and went off to gallivant around in a time machine.

Except that…she'd spent years watching him stand up to bullies, who probably _were_ fully capable of killing him.

And now he was back and he was _older_ than her.

Kurt had always had a sort of grace but now he'd grown into it as if he was finally comfortable in his own skin. He'd always used to cover himself up in sleeves and scarves and bow ties for shields, loud and flamboyant clothes that few people understood and that he could use as a weapon. Mercedes remembered that tailored tailcoat that showed off arms she'd so very rarely seen, that had fluttered and whispered when he moved. He'd always been gorgeous but it had always been in more of a cute and childish way, not this blazingly bright sharpness that in Mercedes' mind could probably light up all the darkness in the world.

And she'd missed out on it, all of it.

She'd missed it all and now he was back and she almost didn't even know how she felt anymore. Mercedes Jones had always, always loved Kurt Hummel and nothing in this world would ever be able to change that, and all the reasoning in the world couldn't stop the unfamiliar mingling of fury and love that dueled inside her.

She'd missed him and she hadn't been able to help him, and she hated it.

Despite this, she hadn't been able to resist shuffling forward before they were out the door and hugging that boy, gently because he looked half-broken slumped over that deranged, manic-looking Scottish guy's back. The look Kurt sent her was despicably sweet and he had smiled dazedly at her, letting go of that Doctor guy's collar long enough to let his fingers reach out and brush the nape of her neck and _good freaking god_ he might have looked different but it had been so long since she'd seen him look like _Kurt _the way he did now.

His smile was honest now, warm and bright, bearing no similarity to the ones he'd left with, all ice chips and winter chill and falsity.

Just for that smile, Mercedes could forgive the fact that she wasn't the one carrying him out.

Kurt had done a lot of things to be furious with him for, but he'd never broken a promise, never mind the kind of promise that she'd gotten from him. He'd definitely keep it so she'd make herself wait just a little longer.

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><p>At least Aretha had had the balls to step forward and do <em>something<em>, because Puck hadn't been able to do a single thing.

He'd watched, stunned, as someone he'd taken completely for dead broke down the door (quite literally, in fact) back into their lives. He'd watched him threaten and fight with something that seemed to want them all dead. He'd defended them even though it had led to him getting mauled and practically tossed out a window.

He hadn't been brave enough to take the step forward and touch him to make sure he was real, even when Britt (that fearless, ridiculous girl) had gone up and said hello, all the while ignoring the bloodied mess on the floor next to him.

Mr. Oh-sweet-GaGa-if-you-breathe-near-my-clothing-I-will-eviscerate-you Hummel let himself get dirty and _hurt_ for them and hell if it wasn't the most eye-opening thing that Noah Puckerman had ever seen in his life.

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><p>"<em>Rachel Berry, shut up right now. I will get to you when I get to you."<em>

Rachel didn't know if she wanted to seethe and scream and rant at the injustice or if that bitter taste in her mouth could be classified as guilt because she couldn't get the image of Kurt, delirious and hazy and _new_, out of her head.

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><p>The very first sound to reach Kurt's ears when he awoke again, six hours after being set up in the medical bay for treatment was his phone going off, loud and insistent next to his bed. The room was empty and Kurt was alone, which neither surprised nor upset him because it was good to have the time to think and sort himself out, shifting through everything he'd taken in.<p>

He was still in one piece, miraculously.

Cringing, Kurt turned his attentions to his shoulder, clean and bandaged. He gave his arm an experimental rotation, pleased when he felt an achy pull but not much more. He was either on the mend already or he'd been drugged with the good stuff. A peek under the wrapping revealed marks that would definitely scar, marks in the telltale shape of teeth that would eventually join the starburst and the sacrificial cut.

He supposed that, cosmetically, it could have been worse.

It was all on the same general area so he wouldn't have to put more work into covering it up, at least.

His phone was still going off and Kurt slid it off the table and into his hands. The inbox was full, and whatever messages he'd received recently couldn't be shown. For the first time, Kurt opened his text inbox and after a moment of deliberation, cleared them all out. Every single one. He didn't need to read them to know what they said. What he needed was to read the new.

There were ten of them but he fished through the list until he found the name that he could never have missed, suddenly anxious and wary.

_Let me know when you're feeling better. I'm worried about you._ Kurt read the words over and over again before he could convince himself that they were real and not a rejection or withdrawal. Steeling himself, Kurt typed out a reply, fingers embarrassingly out of practice and weakened with relief.

_I'm awake_, he typed, the sides of his lips tilting up involuntarily. _I'm sorry to have worried you._

He sent it and a response came out not a minute later, startling him.

_You should be. Just glad you're safe. When do you think you'll be up to meeting up with me?_

Kurt couldn't help but smile because those words were pure Mercedes and left no room for argument, to the point and honest.

_If I'm careful and you can promise not to try and yank me around, I can be up and moving by tomorrow._

_My parents are going out for a few days and taking my brother with them. Come over at 3._

_And the promise of no yanking?_

_I promise nothing but you'll probably still alive by the time I'm through with you._

A light chuckle bubbled from his throat as Kurt replied, confirming the time.

In their last meeting (if you could really call it a meeting, considering that he spent most of his words telling off Rachel and the rest while his brain felt like it had been on a trip to Mars), he'd mostly exchanged silent looks with his friends (former friends? Kurt honestly didn't even know anymore at this point). How weird was this going to be? How awkward? How much had they both changed? What had he missed?

And then there was the issue of the question that Kurt absolutely refused to consider:

What kind of choices would he have to make?

Kurt shook his head and slid off the bed when his stomach growled insistently. He'd reply to the rest over dinner.

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><p>Kurt didn't even have to raise his hand to knock before the door was flung open and he was face-to-face with Mercedes and no excuses between them like investigating bad feelings while incognito andor being on the verge of passing out thanks to blood loss. For a few, brief moments, both of them just looked the other up and down, and the girl's eyes lingered on the stark white bandage that preceded the black wrap that covered the rest of his arm.

"Come on in," Mercedes said finally, backing away from the door so that he could slip inside.

Kurt had been inside her home more times than he could count and not much had changed in the meantime. It was still warm and homey and there were still action figures on the floor in the living room courtesy of Mercedes' little brother. Unconsciously, Kurt smiled and followed her into the kitchen, parking himself in one of the sunny wooden chairs at the table.

"Hi, 'Cedes."

There was a swell of emotion like an orchestral crescendo and when it comes crashing down, Kurt's out of his seat and hugging the girl like he'll never let her go. That weird, foreign sort of awkwardness fled the moment Mercedes hugged him back, pulling him into a grip both familiar and welcoming.

"_God_ I have missed you, Blue Eyes," the girl breathed into his neck and Kurt smiled despite himself because she was consciously mindful of his arm.

"I've missed you too, Mercy," Kurt said, rubbing his cheek into her hair. "I really, really have."

Mercedes pulled back and for about thirty seconds just looked at him, as if searching for something. He wasn't sure what but she must have found it because she smiled. It was a more watery smile than he was used to, but still a smile.

And then they were sitting across from each other at the table just like they used to, and Mercedes had set her chin in her hand.

"So," she started, "A time machine."

Kurt jolted and stared. Well, that was Mercedes, never one to pull her own punches. He smiled sheepishly.

"You actually believe me," he stated, not a question. The girl just raised a brow at him and cocked her head.

"Not like I have much of a choice, considering that while your blonde friend was ripping your coat apart to make bandages, the crazy dude decided to rip into _us_. And really? What else can I think when you show up again and look like that?" She gestured to him and Kurt looked down at himself, furrowing his brows.

"That different?" he asked, receiving a snort in reply.

"Yeah, boy? I know you see yourself in the mirror every day but for someone who hasn't seen you in a while? _Holy hell._" Suddenly, she sobered. "Kurt, was it… was it that bad?" Mercedes questioned, voice soft and tentative. Briefly, Kurt closed his eyes. This was what he knew had been coming and it was what he wanted least to talk about, but he knew he had to. He lowered his eyes to the table.

"Well," he began, wishing he could sound just a little more confident, "Yes. It was that bad."

Mercedes cringed as if she'd been hit and the chestnut-haired boy continued hurriedly.

"I don't think that there was anything… that anyone could have really done. I was in a really, really bad place, and the Doctor was someone who could help me. I was holding the very end of my rope, and he held out a hand and started reeling me in just in time. That's what it was like." Kurt had never really defined what it was that the Doctor had done for him, and to do it now in front of someone he hadn't seen in two years and who was now watching him as if she didn't know quite who he was intimidating and more than a little exposing.

"Do you get hurt often, and what in the good lord are you wrapping your arm in?"

Kurt smiled wryly and rubbed the wraps, avoiding the tender areas.

"I wouldn't say _often_," he said delicately, "It's only gotten really bad twice. Well," he corrected, "Really bad in that I ended up with scars. Mostly it's just running and the occasional bump and bruise. " That didn't seem to make things sound much better, he realized, when Mercedes' eyes widened. "What?" he asked defensively, "We're a bunch of do-gooders who can't seem to avoid trouble. There's nothing to do about it. Besides, if I hadn't…" He stopped abruptly.

He didn't want to finish that statement.

_If I hadn't been there and gotten my ass kicked, you'd all be dead._

Somehow, he didn't think that that would be appreciated and kept his mouth shut instead, flashing Mercedes a nervous, closed-mouth smile.

"What?" he finally asked, and she shook her head.

"Honestly? Half the time I still think I'm in the middle of some deranged, hallucinatory fantasy with you, and that you're not actually here and that I'm legitimately crazy," she said bluntly, "Time machines—"

"TARDIS, actually—"

"British guys—"

"The accent's actually more Scottish than UK, and he's not even from Scotland or even Earth—"

"Random girls with bad dye jobs—"

"Oi, I haven't gotten a chance to touch it up, yet!" Kurt protested, "But okay, fine, I'll give you that one."

"Kurt!" Mercedes snapped, "Do you not get it? Most people thought you were _dead_. Dead, as in tossed out somewhere to rot. Does that make you happy? I had no _clue_ what happened to you. It took everything I had to not think that, so don't _joke about this with me_. Puck thought you were dead, Rachel thought you were dead, someone could have helped you—"

"No!" Kurt interrupted, scrambling to his feet because he had never lost the inability to sit down when he was upset, "No, no they couldn't. Don't _you_ get it? I had nothing left! Dad—Dad was gone. Gone forever, and what was I supposed to do? All the supposed family I had? They'd only ever come for the day because I begged and I was okay with that, there was _no _one and I didn't care that there was no one. I tried my best to keep it together but it just _didn't work_ and I couldn't do it anymore!" His voice lowered, "Were you there when they checked the house?"

Looking bewildered, Mercedes nodded.

"Were you there when they checked the master bathroom?"

"Yes… why?"

Kurt laughed, dry and bitter.

"Did you notice what they found in the wastebasket?"

"Yeah, they just found an old straight razor…"

Kurt's not-happy-at-all smile widened darkly and Mercedes stilled as if she'd suddenly turned to marble.

"…Kurt?"

"My father never had a texting plan or cared about Bluetooth, but he was certainly not old fashioned enough to use a straight razor instead of an electric one." Kurt's voice was velvet off of his tongue as if he whispered endearments instead of poison, "You've never been stupid. What would that be doing there if it wasn't for shaving?"

Brown eyes darted to his bandaged arm and Kurt squeezed it so hard that it hurt.

"No. Not this."

"What are they for, then?" she asked, rightfully skeptical after the nuke he'd just dropped. Kurt bit his lip and reluctantly unrolled the wraps from his wrist to his elbow, letting Mercedes take in the snaking scar that had lightened but not faded.

"This is what I ended up with the first time I got seriously hurt. They tried to sacrifice me on an altar; I didn't…take it well." Those scars were also the reason that Kurt would relish every cheeseburger he'd ever eat for the rest of his life despite the fat grams and the havoc they wreaked on his skin. "People seeing them makes me uncomfortable, so I prefer to cover them up."

That said, he rolled his wraps back up and they sat in silence for a bit longer until, eventually,

"In the choir room yesterday, was that thing really…did you really fight it with lies?" Mercedes asked tentatively, a far cry from her previous bluster. Blue eyes shuttered. "No, you have to be honest. Those things you said… that you've never wanted to die, that you've never felt guilty. Those were lies?" Kurt's stomach twisted because _god_, she sounded so sad.

Kurt's silence was apparently enough of an answer and she drew in a long breath that trembled.

"So how old are you, now?"

Thank nothing for subject changes.

"A few months away from nineteen," he replied, "I tend to lose track but the TARDIS keeps good records."

"Huh," was all Mercedes answered with. Finally, finally the sides of her lips tilted upwards. Reluctantly, but they did. A plus, all things considered. "So. You get to kissing any cute boys on the trip through time and space?"

Now _that_ was a topic that Kurt could get behind. He waggled a finger at her.

"Now, now. What kind of gentleman would I be if I kissed and told?"

"Don't even try that with me, honey. You're dying to share, which means that you totally did. Don't tell me it was that Doctor fellow."

The reaction was instantaneous; Kurt wrinkled his nose and vehemently shook his head, waving his hands in front of him.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, _no_," he exclaimed, "For multiple reasons, the main one being that I absolutely don't have romantic feelings for the man, but you have _no idea_ what Rose would do to me if I did that to her. I probably wouldn't survive. They haven't really done anything about it but anyone with eyes can see what's there." Kurt's smile went playful. "Turns out that it's not too hard to get a date outside of Ohio. I may or may not have exchanged several lovely and exceedingly sweet nothings with Walt Whitman. He took me out to dinner, _very_ nice guy."

And there was that shocked look again.

"You…what. Seriously? What _else_ have you been doing?"

"What? You asked about kissing boys! I told you about kissing boys. You want more of my dirty secrets, you pervert? You wanna know about Tchaikovsky, too?" Kurt stuck his tongue out at her and tried not to think about the Bad Wolf and the kiss that tasted like goodbye.

Mercedes just gaped at him and Kurt leaned back, too smug for words.

"And who have you been kissing, Miss Jones?"

The look he got resembled that of a surprised goldfish and Kurt preened, exceedingly pleased with himself.

"I'm just going to make it easy on you and consider this battle won, Madame," and still thinking about Jack, Kurt tipped an invisible hat at her across the table. "Now, answer me this."

"Hmm?"

"What the hell are you _wearing_?" he asked, gaze traveling from her trainers under the table to her highlighter yellow off-the-shoulder top, "I do not approve of this."

And then Mercedes had buried her face in her hands, the quietest of whimpers rising from her throat, and Kurt had rounded the table again to wrap her up in a hug, squeezing firmly. He was suddenly aware of just how much taller he was than her, that she had to look up to look him in the eyes now, that he would never really, _really_ understand what she'd gone through in his absence. That she'd never really, _really_ understand what he'd done and seen in his extra years.

It was sobering and sad but Kurt couldn't bring himself to regret it, not one little bit.

Old Kurt probably would have been sadder.

"Hey, hey, come on," Kurt crooned, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's okay."

It wasn't, but he was about the last person in the world who was going to tell her that.

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><p>AN2: As always, please leave a review if you enjoyed this or even if you kind of hate where it's going. I like to hear all opinions, even if it won't change how this story proceeds. I always love to hear reader thoughts or questions.<p> 


	14. Galliard

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.

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><p>AN: Thank you all so much for your response on the last chapter! I got a couple of questions, but I hesitate to answer them because eventually, they'll be answered in the story and I'd rather not spoil the plot. I hope you all continue to read and enjoy, I read and take into consideration every little bit of feedback.<p>

On with the show!

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><p>Chapter Fourteen: Galliard<p>

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><p>Kurt hadn't been allowed to walk out that door without making a plan for a glee get-together for the day after next, mostly because tomorrow was the last day of finals and had everyone crawling the walls because it didn't matter how old you got or where you were, tests <em>sucked<em>.

Somehow, Kurt left Mercedes' house feeling more worried than he'd started.

She hadn't asked but it was only a matter of time before someone did, asking the one question that Kurt was dreading most.

He could talk about why he'd left, or what he'd done in the interim. He could even talk about the things that hurt most, the experiences that had marked him or made him cry or laugh like he'd never be sad again. He'd talk about dates and kisses and people and adventures.

What he couldn't talk about was what came next because eventually, someone was going to ask him what he was going to do now that he was home, and Kurt didn't know how he was going to tell people, _his_ people, that he had no intention of staying in Lima. Not now, not after all this. Not while he was uneven like this, not while he was scarred like this, not while he just couldn't seem to identify with them quite like he used to.

He loved Mercedes. He'd always loved her and probably always would even if at times he'd want to kill her.

But Kurt couldn't look at her anymore and know, without thinking about it, that she'd understand him.

That he could look at them and see them as _younger _instead of as his peers was disorienting and upsetting. They'd all been so helpless in that classroom and it had been up to Kurt to protect them. He used to be the one who needed protection, had a couple of years changed that much?

But it wasn't about time anymore.

Kurt had been different even before he'd set foot in the TARDIS. Not stronger, necessarily, but made different by his experiences. And now? Those experiences set him apart even more and it _hurt _because that wasn't what he'd wanted.

Somewhere along the line, traveling with the Doctor had stopped being something about recuperation and had become something that Kurt wanted simply because he wanted it, because he loved these people and loved seeing new things and never wanted to stop. When had he stopped loving the people he'd left?

No.

No, that wasn't it.

That wasn't it at all.

He'd didn't love them less, not at all. But he loved them differently, now. Kurt used to dream about Broadway, about getting out of Lima and never coming back, about big stages and bright lights because that was the biggest thing he could think to reach out for. He dreamed about competing with Rachel for solos and parts and eventually performing together, he dreamed about conversations with Mercedes, with both of them as huge stars and household names, waxing lyrical about what their lives had become.

That still might happen, but it wouldn't include Kurt on that huge stage because it just wasn't big enough now. Like being confined to a single room in a single house, and then suddenly gaining access to a window.

God, the Doctor had spoiled him so and he couldn't even regret it because who could pass that up?

Kurt realized, then, that a lot of people would pass it up. Had passed it up. Mickey passed up that chance every time they stopped in London and Kurt had always wondered why. Finn would never have taken up that offer. Quinn wouldn't, Tina wouldn't, Mercedes wouldn't. Rachel might if only because that would mean she'd have a bigger audience, but to open that door and walk through just because you could, because you wanted to know?

Kurt wondered how his friends saw him, now. Did Mercedes still see him as her peer, or did she look at him and see him changed as he did? Did she feel disconnected, like she'd lost a tether that she'd thought would always be there?

He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to those questions.

They were his people but they weren't all he had, and he loved them but who could stand to stay in that single room in that single house when they could suddenly see the world?

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><p>Kurt had thought that there was nothing to do in Lima when he spent most of his time in school. It was about three times worse when all he had to do was wander around with one of both of his companions in tow. He'd wander around by himself but really, it wasn't as if they had much of anything to do either, especially not somewhere like here.<p>

None of them had said anything about what was going to happen next and Kurt didn't know if it was because they assumed that he was going to stay, because they assumed that he would want to keep traveling with them, or because they didn't assume anything at all and were leaving the ball in his court to deal with. It was probably for the best that way because Kurt knew that he'd probably be having one hell of a blowout over this and he _really_ didn't want to deal with a second one.

As it was now, Kurt _was_ on his own, mostly because the Doctor had caught sight of the lone entertaining thing in Lima and gone after it.

Unfortunately, the most entertaining thing currently in Lima was the 3-for-1 sale at the donut shop and Kurt had no intention of partaking in such a thing, thank you.

Also unfortunately, because of this little fact, Kurt found himself picking the lock to get into his own former home because there wasn't anything to distract him from it.

All the doors had been barricaded by the police but it seemed now as if no one had so much as breathed near it in months, and Kurt knew for a fact that the back door had wiggly hinges. He'd wiggled them loose himself years back when he'd gone through his period of teenage rebellion which had lasted all of a month and two days and had wanted to try sneaking out creatively.

Somehow, despite the fact that his father had known and Kurt had _known_ that he'd known, those hinges had never been tightened or set back into place. In retrospect, maybe it had been left on purpose, since it wasn't like the back door was used much anyway. Just in case. The potential reasons for that just in case left him just a little bit cold but he went ahead anyway, prying the wiggling hinges even looser with a pair of scissors to shoulder the door open.

People often thought that memories were tied to sight, but Kurt knew in that instant that they had to have been wrong because it wasn't what he saw that rushed through him but the scent, the smell of home despite that it hadn't been inhabited in months. Kurt stepped, lightly and silently, through the back door and into the living room. For a good while, he just stood in the middle of the room and breathed, letting the memories flow.

He supposed that this was what happened when a house –a home- was abandoned by those who lived in it.

No one wanted it; no one had claimed the things inside.

So it was just left, left as it had always been, locked up and forgotten.

Some things had been moved, probably by the police who did the search, but as a whole, it was as he remembered. The pictures, the furniture, the paint on the walls, the lamp on the side table. The painstaking neatness that Kurt had slaved obsessively for, all here. All so familiar, all so close.

Home and not-home because now, home was a time machine that had welcomed him with a bedroom without being asked, with a cherry-stained wood door with a brass knob, with spiraled clothing racks and a bed that wasn't too big. Home was a library with a swimming pool, with a kitchen that always had bananas and never had pears, with a man who was cockamamie and eccentric at best, wonderfully deranged at worst.

This home, this not-home that was so familiar, had years of memories and safety and love and terror. This not-home had seen death.

Kurt breathed and his shoulders went slack because it didn't matter how long he'd been gone, this not-home was still his no matter how much it hurt.

A look in the drawer revealed one more thing that hadn't been changed, and Kurt drew in a choked breath when he drew out a single sheet of paper drawn over with crayon.

_Me and Mommy and Daddy_ was written on the back in a childish hand and the front depicted three figures having what couldn't be mistaken for anything other than a tea party. There was his mother –with that thick, chestnut river for hair that she'd passed on to her son- offering a cookie to a bear. Tiny Kurt had drawn his father, looking exceedingly confused, holding his pinky out.

There was a moment in which Kurt almost took that paper, folded it up, and stuck it into his pocket.

In the end, he did no such thing, choosing instead to put it back in the drawer.

It had been put there, Kurt decided, out of love, and it would stay there out of love.

When he'd first left, he'd taken only his clothing and toiletries. Now, he found himself pocketing things here and there, nothing major that would be missed, mostly things that people would never think to look for in the first place.

Into the bag slung across his good shoulder went some photos, the unframed ones that he treasured most and kept hidden under the basket of CDs next to his bed. Kurt couldn't help sitting down on it and giving an experimental bounce. It felt the same, if dusty. Into his bag went the trophy from Nationals because he'd really loved being a Cheerio, if only because he was good at it, it gave his ego a boost, and actually gave him a set of abs. Into his bag went a few of his favorite books: _The Art of War, I'm a Winner and You're Fat,_ and _The Phantom Tollbooth_.

He took just two things from the master bedroom.

Into his bag went his father's ratty old baseball cap that Kurt had bitched about at least every week, as steady as the tides.

Kurt's fingers closed around that velvet ring box and popped it open. That simple, piano key necklace had never really fit that box. It could just barely be maneuvered into the ring slot and even then it tilted awkwardly. When Kurt removed the necklace, he left the box.

He'd never be coming back for it.

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><p>There was someone standing in front of his house.<p>

A very familiar someone.

A very familiar someone who made his skin crawl even after all this time and Kurt's mind jumped back to a place it hadn't been in a long time, back to dry, roughened lips on his, hands on his shoulders that he couldn't get away from, to being pushed up against the lockers and touched where he didn't want to be touched.

As fast as that flash of fear had slithered through him, it was replaced with something that was unmistakably anger. How _dare_ he show up here? How dare he be here? How dare he stand there, watching Kurt's front door as if he was someone to be welcomed into Kurt's not-home?

The red of that jacket, stark and bright, was the cape in front of the bull.

Unfortunately for Dave Karofsky, he was no matador and Kurt was no bull, because bulls didn't come with claws and fangs, an extra two years, and experience of infinitely scarier things than a closeted bully.

From where he stood pressed up against the side of his house, Kurt adjusted his sunglasses and straightened his very much un-rumpled clothing. He waited, briefly, to see how long Karofsky was going to stand there. After he hadn't so much as taken a step in three minutes, Kurt scowled.

No more of this.

Kurt stepped away from the house and approached, making himself as tall as possible.

"Oi," he called out, voice settling into an unmistakable growl, "This is private property. Be on your way."

Karofsky looked up at him with no recognition and Kurt fought the urge to take off the glasses and hat just so he could see that look turn into shock.

"Who the hell are _you_?" the other boy asked, ignoring Kurt's demand, "Why are you here?"

"I'm a relative," Kurt replied shortly with an imperious toss of his head, "Kurt was my cousin." He watched the expressions flash across Karofsky's face: skepticism, anger, and then fear. And then, finally, something that looked suspiciously like guilt.

"Since when did Hummel have a cousin? It's been months." Apparently Kurt's bearing, state of dress, and height was enough to convince him of the lie.

"That's none of your business, is it?" Kurt adjusted the sunglasses on his face. He couldn't see it but he knew exactly where the TARDIS was, set in the backyard on the other side of the house. He knew exactly what he'd be doing after this was over. "I'd ask who _you_ were, but I don't need to." The bored tone was faked but the sneer that made his lip curl wasn't. "Dave Karofsky."

The boy that had once towered over him took a step back, face draining of color.

"W-what'd that fairy tell you?"

Kurt tsk'd and took a step closer, reaching out to adjust Karofsky's collar in a blatant threat, letting his hand linger as if he'd yank any second.

"_That fairy_, as you call my beloved cousin, told me more than enough about you. He told me about what you did, how you hit him, shoved him, scared him," Kurt leaned in to whisper poisonously, "_Kissed_ him. _Touched _him. _Broke _him."

Karofsky was a statue, still and wide-eyed.

"Are you happy that he's gone, Dave? I bet you are. He knew about you and we couldn't have that, could we?"

"I didn't kill him!" Karofsky interjected, color rising high in his cheeks, "I didn't kill Hummel! Quit acting like I did!"

"No," Kurt mused, "No, I suppose you didn't. But let me tell you something, David Karofsky," One more step was breached. To anyone walking by, they might have looked like close friends who hadn't seen one another in a while, reminiscing, until you saw their faces. "You didn't kill him, but by the time you were done with him? You may as well have. You took what was already a miserable existence and you _destroyed_ him. But you're okay with that, right? Because _you're_ safe, at least." Kurt broke off. He was getting to the point where he wouldn't be able to keep his voice steady if he continued.

Without another word, he turned on a heel and began to walk back from where he'd come, back towards the backyard.

Karofsky's voice stopped him.

"Y-you won't tell anyone, right? That I'm… that I'm-!"

"Why you did what you did to my cousin?" Kurt asked levelly, wishing that he didn't enjoy the look of panic that he received in return. The streets were deserted. "No. You're a bully, a danger, and frankly a terrible human being, but Kurt didn't believe in doing something like that. I don't either." It'd be so easy, he realized, to drop a few ideas into people's heads, to out the other boy and have him see how it felt to be terrified for his life. It would have been terrifyingly easy, actually, and the idea of doing such a thing to someone else made him feel physically ill. Karofsky deserved a lot of things, but being dragged out of the closet was not one of them. "Stay away from this place; it doesn't belong to you."

Not a minute later, he was slipping back into the TARDIS. His bag was set gingerly on the floor and Kurt followed it, leaning up against the wall and sinking down.

His hands were shaking.

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><p>AN2: Please, please, please leave a review if you have anything at all to say about this. I really do live off of writing most of the time and even though I write for myself, I treasure the things that other people have to say about my stories. Thank you!<p> 


	15. Chorale

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you for all your reviews on the last chapter!<p>

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><p>Chapter Fifteen: Chorale<p>

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><p>Kurt had hoped that he'd imagined the disconnect that he'd been feeling, that it was something he'd be able to get over after a few hours with his friends. He hadn't.<p>

Rachel's basement was as he remembered: large, spacious, and possessing an entirely too-huge portrait of one Miss Berry herself. Unfortunately, while the portrait was still there, the aforementioned Miss Berry was not, and had left Kurt alone in her basement. If she'd been anyone else, Kurt might have suspected that she was legitimately trying to kidnap him.

Badly.

As it was, though, the girl had immediately flung her arms around his neck and squeezed just shy of strangulation and if it was a kidnapping, it was a really, _really_ terrible one, so Kurt didn't bother worrying about it.

She'd said something about running to the store to grab a few more snacks? Who in their right mind invited someone over and then just left them when other people weren't due to show up for another hour and a half?

Oh.

Wait.

Rachel. Never mind. That didn't really explain much but it at least let him omit the "in their right mind" part of that equation.

Why she felt the need to leave Kurt alone in her house he really had no idea because he wasn't _that_ terrified of her driving, but still. He supposed that it was neither here nor there in the end and settled onto the couch to wait for her to come back, sipping at a bottle of pomegranate juice that she'd pushed on him before she left, along with a plate of _I'm Sorry _cookies.

He'd asked her what she was apologizing for, and she'd explained that the characteristic, delicious taste could only come from guilt and shame, otherwise they would have been _Welcome Back_ cookies. Well, whatever. They were delicious all the same, even if they were vegan and the secret ingredient was disgrace, real or imagined. Leave it to Rachel.

There was a knock on the front door and it didn't occur to Kurt that it wouldn't be someone from glee, hopefully here to save him from a poorly executed abduction. It did, however, occur to him that maybe he ought to have considered this when he opened the door to reveal someone he didn't know, and _wow_ this was probably going to be super awkward.

A boy stood on Rachel's front stoop, mid-height and dark-haired and looking distinctly nervous.

"Um…hi," the boy said, shifting from foot to foot. "Rachel invited me to her party. Are you…Kurt?"

Kurt's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Several pieces of a puzzle he hadn't known existed slotted into place and he, not for the first time or the last, had the intense and burning desire to maim Rachel Berry.

"You seem to know me but I don't really know much of you, I'm sorry to say."

The boy flushed uncomfortably.

"Er, well, she's always talked about you. We met at Sectionals. I have a photo on my phone if you need proof." Furrowing his brows, the boy cocked his head, "For a glee party, the quiet is more than a bit terrifying. I thought Puck would be swinging by the chandelier by now."

Kurt sighed.

"That would be because for some inexplicable reason, dearest Rachel has invited you over an hour early and has since made herself scarce. I think that's what she tends to consider a plan," Blue eyes rolled. "Well, you don't seem to be an ax murderer and I'm pretty sure I could take you if you were. Come on in."

"Oh, damn, I left the ax at home. I knew I forgot something."

Kurt snickered and opened the door wider to let the boy inside.

"And does the forgetful ax murderer have a name?"

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson." The newly named Blaine rubbed the back of his head and extended a hand. Kurt took it and gave it a firm shake, leading him into the house. "Nice cravat."

That was not a _nice cravat_ like it was a jibe or a dig or a _nice cravat_ that meant _pffffft nice girly neck ribbon_ or that it was actually a hideous cravat and what the hell was he doing wearing one? Who would have thought that in Lima, _nice cravat_ really could ever just mean _nice cravat_? Kurt smiled, the one that made his eyes crinkle up.

"Thank you. I like your bow tie, very cool."

Preening, Blaine couldn't resist fiddling with the tie, tweaking it back into place despite that it had never been crooked.

"Bow ties _are_ cool," he affirmed, "Any idea when Rachel plans on coming back?"

"No idea," Kurt replied, walking with the other boy down to the basement, "I'm assuming sometime before the rest of glee club gets here because it'd be kind of weird to miss your own party, don't you think? Or it could just be a really elaborate ruse and you're merely a pawn in her really bad plan to keep me captive."

"Should I be more offended that I'm just a pawn or that I'm not the one being kidnapped?" Blaine mused half to himself, shifting his eyes to Kurt just in time to catch the other boy cover his mouth to keep from laughing.

"Did you ever think that _I_ might be the ax murderer?" Kurt countered, "You've never met me; I could have tied up Rachel and tossed her in the basement." Blaine really should have looked more worried, or at least a little bit concerned.

"Nah, you'd totally hear her screaming from here."

"Even with a gag?"

"Most definitely."

"Ah, well. Guess you're on to me, then. Shame."

Blaine had been down here before, shown by the way he didn't hesitate in flopping down on the couch to prop his feet up. Kurt followed him at a more sedate pace, settling delicately into a chair.

"So… Kurt," Blaine began and cast a curious look Kurt's way. The taller boy glanced up from where he was studiously examining his fingernails, raising a single brow in acknowledgement of the question. "Rachel said I wasn't allowed to question you about your mysterious disappearing act? Something about the CIA or the FBI or something…?"

Goddamnit, Rachel.

Kurt sighed.

"Yep, classified information. They'll string me up if I tell. No lie."

Innocent blue eyes met suspicious hazel.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to." Kurt had always been told that _that voice_ was supremely irritating, the infernally superior one that embodied bitchface and dripped in nonchalance. It still worked despite its relative lack of recent use, judging by the scowl that Blaine sent his way. Finally, the dark-haired boy sighed, letting a wry smile wrap itself onto his features.

"Alright, alright, fine. You win. Classified."

Kurt smiled back.

"Now, I have a question for _you_."

"Oh god." Blaine visibly gulped.

"_Avenue Q _or _The Book of Mormon_?"

Blaine, who had clearly been expecting about any question other than that, could barely hold back the bark of laughter that forced itself from his throat and immediately began humming the tune of _If You Were Gay_. Kurt snickered and shot him a thumbs up.

"Very good, approval gained."

"Who could resist?" Blaine shot back, waggling a brow in Kurt's direction, "Lady Gaga or Katy Perry?"

"Pfffft, Gaga all the way. Don't even suggest otherwise. Blue or red?"

"Both, those are my school colors," With a sheepish grin, Blaine tugged a monogrammed notebook out of his bag, waving it to show off the ornate logo. Kurt inclined his head.

"Fair enough."

"Bengals or Browns?"

"Neither, football sucks. Joni Mitchell or Simon & Garfunkel?"

"Joni Mitchell."

"Good man," Kurt nodded approvingly, "I think I can be friends with you now." From the sofa, Blaine took a jaunty, miniature bow. Kurt scrutinized him, wondering, briefly, how things might have been if they'd met before he'd left with the Doctor. "So… what _exactly_ did Rachel tell you about me?"

There was no hesitation in the response.

"She said you were talented, pretty, and gay."

That was…surprisingly kind considering the original source. Kurt would have been banking more on the lines of overdramatic, pessimistic, and prickly. Gay would still probably have been in the description, though.

"And what about you?" Kurt asked breezily. Blaine shrugged.

"About the same on all counts."

"My, my. Someone's humble."

"I don't see you denying the description," Blaine shot back, unable to keep the smile off his face. Kurt matched it and reclined in his chair, the picture of luxuriance.

"I don't have to because none of it is debatable in the slightest. Anyone with eyes can just tell. It's a vibe I give off."

"Has anyone ever told you that you border on the insufferable?"

"I am a wonderful kind of insufferable. Endearing at the very, very least," Kurt preened, "But yes. Talented, pretty, and gay. And kind of insufferable."

Of all the things that Kurt had been expecting of the evening, this was not one of them. He'd certainly been expecting to have fun, been expecting to play catch-up, but Blaine was a variable he hadn't counted on. It wasn't a _bad_ thing and it meant that any sort of interrogation gang-up wouldn't be happening. As long as Rachel had passed around the story that he'd been kidnapped by the government, things should all be fine.

In theory.

Seriously though, what were the chances of this? What Kurt wouldn't have given, two years ago, to have known that there was another gay guy in Ohio who wasn't one of Rachel's dads or Dave Karofsky. Would it have been him introducing himself to Blaine at Sectionals in another world? What could have been, what could have not? It could have made him sad or wistful or regretful. Instead, he felt happy because even though it took a while, he got to meet him now and better late than never.

"Hold on a minute," Blaine spoke up suddenly, getting to his feet and making his way to the stairs, "That juice is taunting me and I know where she keeps it. If Rachel cares, she shouldn't have abandoned us." As he ascended the staircase, Kurt waved him up with a twirl of his hand with a joking,

"Don't mind me; I'll just be down here, polishing my ax."

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><p>This might have been the most awkward party that Kurt had ever been to, and he'd consoled George Washington over whiskey (which might have been the most vile drink to ever grace the planet) after Benedict Arnold's defection. This trumped that level of awkward, and Kurt had thought that there couldn't possibly be anything worse than trying to comfort the future first president in the middle of the Revolutionary War. With whiskey.<p>

Ugh.

It was clear that all anyone else wanted to do was either stage an interrogation, kill him, or smother him to death.

Well, Brittany and Santana already had that bit covered because they'd walked in (not even in his wildest dreams had Kurt _ever_ pictured Santana Lopez in Rachel Berry's basement), immediately shoved Blaine out of the way and monopolized Kurt's lap.

Well, his knees anyway because he now had a cheerleader seated on each.

Finn was in the very large corner of people who apparently wanted to interrogate him because all he'd done since arriving was glower and look like it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut to not spill anything that shouldn't be said in front of someone who didn't know. Was that why Rachel had invited Blaine? Kurt had been thinking it was some sort of gay boy solidarity project or matchmaking or just because Rachel did that sort of thing without thinking about it, but if _that_ was what she'd planned instead in order to keep Finn in line, she was more conniving than he'd remembered.

At least she seemed to be fighting on the side of Good, this time.

"So…Kurt," Quinn had spoken up, green eyes peering up at him from the rim of her cup of coke, "CIA aside, tell us about the Doctor. I don't want to know about what he does, I want to know about _him_."

All conversation had gone quiet and Finn was giving her _that look_, the grateful one that made Rachel grit her teeth in frustration, because leave it to Quinn to just come out and ask what people wanted to know. From Kurt's left, Blaine furrowed his brows and looked slightly confused.

"Who's the Doctor?" he asked, tilting his head, "Are you sick?"

It was all Kurt could do to not facepalm and he settled for frowning at Quinn, who merely shrugged and looked unrepentant. She could at least pretend to be at least a little bit abashed but no, Quinn said what she wanted and never took it back. He liked that about her when it wasn't directed at him.

In response to Blaine, Kurt shook his head.

"I'm not sick," he said mildly, "The Doctor is…" he paused, suddenly unsure as to how to phrase what he wanted to say. "The Doctor is someone who's done a lot for me."

"He means a lot to you," Blaine pointed out, and Kurt realized with a start that he wasn't scowling anymore but smiling, unconsciously and without thinking about it in the slightest.

"He's very important to me," Kurt replied, voice low and feathery. He didn't have to work to make himself heard; the room was silent and waiting for him to continue, his friends anticipating and Blaine merely curious. "I trust him. To…" _Do what's right. _"To not lead me astray. To let me lead myself and let myself be better. People think he's a brook most of the time, bubbling and bright and shallow, and he is sometimes. But hardly anyone sees how _deep_ he goes and how deeply he cares. He can do terrible things, and the most wonderful, the most infuriating and the most kind, and the most beautiful."

"It sounds like you love him."

Kurt froze at Blaine's comment, soft and fair and as unlike an accusation as it could get. Finn looked about a second away from sputtering (With annoyance? Indignation?) and Quinn, despite being the one who asked, had apparently been shocked into silence. Mercedes' face had blanked, showing absolutely nothing.

"Yeah," Kurt finally replied, "Yeah, I do. He's a very precious friend."

Brittany chose that moment to lean closer and nuzzle into his hair, wrapping an arm around his neck and squeezing. She didn't need to say anything because Kurt could feel what she meant from the way she smiled into his cheek.

"Uh, okay, happy subjects!" Rachel suddenly chirruped from the other side of their wavy circle. Kurt scowled; what part about anything he'd said had been even remotely unhappy? "Well, now that you've come home, we need start our game plan for next year! We've got to make it to Nationals before we graduate and starting early is absolutely crucial. You'd be welcome to stay here until college, and Principal Figgins would definitely buy an amnesia story or something. We're going to be seniors together, it'll be fantastic! If we start applying to schools in the fall, we'll know sooner than most people whether we got in…"

The more Rachel prattled, the colder Kurt got.

The light and warmth that had seeped into him blew out quicker than it had come.

This was what he'd been dreading this whole time. He'd never been able to lie very well and he rarely enjoyed it when he had to, and he knew that right now, he was staring across the circle at Rachel who hadn't even noticed that he was looking at her as if he'd just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"Yes, where _are_ you going to stay?" Mercedes cut in, voice tight and tense and oh god, she _knew_. She had to know, that was the only reason why she'd be watching him like that, wary like a hunter who'd come across a bear in his trap. "It'll be a shame that Rose and the Doctor will have to go, but you're home now. This is where you belong."

_Not-home, not-home!_ Kurt's mind shouted, sharp and pleading. He couldn't speak.

A hand dropped to his shoulder and Kurt whipped his head around to look at Blaine, who couldn't have been more bewildered if he tried.

"Are you okay? You look really upset…"

Instinctually, Kurt shook the hand off, gentler than he would have otherwise.

"I…I'm fine," he wavered, "I just…" His voice broke off. Kurt twisted his hands together in his lap, ignoring the way his fingers were scrunching into the fabric of his shirt and wrinkling it to bedlam. "Give me a second."

"What, are you worried about how much school you've missed?" Rachel asked, and Kurt had to wonder if she was _really_ that oblivious or if she was just sadistic. "You'll have plenty of time to catch up over the summer—"

The daisy chain that was Kurt's self-restraint broke and in one swift motion he'd maneuvered Brittany and Santana off of his knees to lurch to his feet, hands trembling and face entirely white. He wasn't sure whether he was hurt or angry or just sad, and why his insides felt tight and then as if they were turning to snakes by turn.

"No," he said, pitch rising, "No. There won't _be_ any catching up. There won't be school in the fall. I didn't… I didn't want for it to come out this way but I can't possibly sit here and lead you all on or—or pretend that I'm going to do something I'm not. I'm not staying. I'm not going to be staying here. When it's time to move on, I'm going to keep traveling with the Doctor."

"You can't do that!" Mercedes protested, angry now. "Why'd you bother coming back, then?"

Kurt reeled back as if he'd been hit and it was clear by the way the girl cut her words off that she hadn't meant to say it. But not meaning to say it and not meaning it were two entirely different things.

_This was an accident, it was an accident! We weren't even supposed to land here in the first place! _Kurt wanted to scream. They'd been aiming for freaking Peru; if the TARDIS hadn't been some sort of sadist, he wouldn't have even been here. Maybe it would have been better. Saying that he hadn't even meant to return would cut deeper than anything else he could have said and a good chunk of Kurt flexed his mental knuckles to _do it_, _do it_, because she'd struck first. But he couldn't.

It was a low blow and it wouldn't just hurt her if he threw it.

So he didn't.

Instead, Kurt straightened up to his full height, muscles coiled like an overwound spring.

"I guess you'd rather be dead, then?" he asked, tone so saccharine sweet that a deaf man would have been able to tell that he didn't mean it.

"That has nothing to do with this—"

"That has _everything_ to do with this!" Kurt retorted, realizing numbly that his feet were moving. He was taking slow, slow steps towards the basement staircase, never taking his eyes off of the angry, confused, and concerned group of people in front of him, "Would you have been okay with dying? Don't you get it? This isn't my place! I'm…" _Different. Uneven. Mismatched._ "I can't just slot back here as if I'd never left, spend a couple of months relearning math and then head right back into the place that made my life hell and pretend like I haven't been changed! Am I just supposed to pretend, to forget? I'm _not_ staying here. You can take it, you can leave it, you can tell me to go to hell or whatever you want, but that's not going to change the outcome."

"What the hell did that Doctor do to you?" Finn spat, "You just run away from everything you don't like, now? You were never like that!"

Kurt wasn't one to lash out physically. He'd always been better with words and insults that cut better than a blade but right now, all he could think about was how satisfying it would be to slam his fist into Finn's head.

He resisted.

Barely.

"Oh," he breathed, white with rage now, "Oh, Finn Hudson, you've done it now. You want to talk about running away? Better to be a coward than deluded. Better to be a coward than a bonehead or a bully or a cheat. Don't even try to air out _my _dirty laundry because you have plenty of your own and I can show you exactly where it starts right here in front of everyone because at least I've been honest! Don't you even dare moralize at me for this. Any of you, because I'm not ashamed."

Silence, absolute silence.

"I'm not ashamed of me, nor am I ashamed of the Doctor or of Rose. I'm not ashamed of who I am or what I've done. I'm sad and I'm sorry but I'm not ashamed."

_Little green, have a happy ending._

Kurt's heels hit the first step on that staircase.

"I'm leaving. Leaving-leaving, tomorrow afternoon. You can come and say goodbye or you can not, I'm too ticked off right now to care. The TARDIS is parked behind my house."

Kurt was used to running. Two years with the Doctor would do that to you. Now, though, his steps were slow and steady and deceptively calm even though inside he was a flurry of emotion. The room he'd left was silent. Silence through the living room, silence through the hall. Silence through the front door, and it clicked behind him.

If he'd been just two seconds slower, he might have heard the basement erupt with voices and footsteps on the stairs.

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><p>AN2: OH THE DRAMA.<p> 


	16. Piano

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Oh my gosh, you guys. I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter, I hit a plot snag and got kind of blocked for a while, but I think I've gotten most of the kinks out by now. All of you who have stuck with me so far, THANK YOU. Your reviews and your feedback mean the world to me and really help me get chapters edited and out faster. LOVE FOREVER.<p>

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><p>Chapter Sixteen: Piano<p>

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><p>Kurt felt, idly, that this must be what it felt like to do a walk of shame.<p>

The streets were dark and deserted save for the occasional (_very_ occasional) car and the night was quiet. No, he wasn't sneaking out of someone's apartment in yesterday's clothing but it felt about the same and it was better that he was walking because if he'd been driving he'd be tempted to take out people's mailboxes. Kurt was a lot of things, but a common vandal? Not a chance.

Kurt Hummel had never been nor would ever be a common anything.

The anger hadn't evaporated but had instead sidled over to make room for what he knew intimately as guilt. He'd said nothing that he hadn't meant, but what if he really left tomorrow without seeing anyone? What if he never came back again? What if the last contact they ever had was angry?

Instinctively, his brain jumped to _I thought you were better than this_ and he shook it off.

This was different.

No one was dying this time, and he hadn't been the only one on the defensive.

Didn't make it suck any less, though.

Suddenly, there were headlights behind him and Kurt slowed, hoping that it would make the car go by faster. On the contrary, the vehicle slowed down right with him until the front windows were in line with his body. The passenger side window rolled down and Kurt glanced over to see that Blaine was in the driver's seat.

"Hey," he said, half-conversationally, still driving excruciatingly slowly. Kurt frowned.

"Hey yourself. What are you—"

"It's late and no one should be walking home alone in the dark. Hop in, I'll give you a ride."

For a brief moment, Kurt hesitated. Blaine just continued to keep up with him and when Kurt raised a questioning brow, waggled both of his own right back at him.

"Come on," the shorter boy wheedled, gesturing with his chin. Oh, hell. And then Kurt was shrugging, ducking over to wrench the car door open, slipping inside and fastening his seat belt. "You'll need to give me directions."

"Yes…" Kurt murmured lowly, staring out the window, "Keep going straight until I tell you."

"That could have gone better," Blaine said quietly, startling Kurt enough to straighten up and look him in the eyes, "Hell of a party." Kurt groaned.

"Ugh, god. Oh, god. Hell is right. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but what made you decide to leave? It's not like you actually know me. "

Keeping his eyes on the road, Blaine's shoulder met his ear.

"Not missing much, it pretty much turned into an arguing mess of he-said-she-said blame-gaming. Figured that I'd be more useful giving you a ride home than sitting there like a lookie-loo who didn't know what was going on."

Kurt laughed but it came out choked and much more like a whimper than anything else. _Home_.

"Kurt?"

The taller boy jerked, scrubbing at his dry cheeks. Blaine was casting side-eye at him, raising a brow in his direction.

"Right, sorry, sorry. You're going to want to hang a right up here at this next signal…"

"Kind of not what I meant, but thanks. I'm not asking you to tell me details because we wouldn't want the CIA to string you up," which Blaine clearly did not believe in the slightest, "But if you want to talk about anything, I can't really judge you. It's not like I even know what's going on aside from the fact that they want you to stay and you want to go."

For a while, Kurt was silent. He'd never been the type to bare his soul easily and certainly not to people he'd just met, but what did he have to lose? Worst case scenario, he'd essentially just lost all of his friends from this timeline, what more was there? It wasn't like he couldn't stand to spill his guts.

"I didn't want this," he said, finally. "I didn't want to say it, but coming back here… it was kind of an accident to start with. Or as much of an accident as it can get. I can't be here, not now. This town was never _mine_, but it was still home. Now it's just… it's not. At all. The thought of trying to fit myself back into that role I played, like I haven't been changed, it makes me sick to my stomach."

"A role?"

Kurt smiled, wry and uncomfortable.

"Yeah. I guess it was always a little bit of a role. It was never a lie but I… I guess I've always held back some of who I am. Or maybe I just didn't really know. And people here just see me as this fruity gay kid who's more of a girl than a guy a lot of the time, and sometimes it's easier to play it up more than I really would otherwise. It's just…being with the Doctor, it's like seeing the sky for the first time. You look up and it's so _blue_ and so far away and so untouchable, and then he hands you a pair of wings and tells you to go for it because who has the right to tell you that you can't?" He trailed off.

Blaine was wearing a funny little smile and it took Kurt a few seconds to recognize it as wistful. As if he were imagining the feeling that Kurt was describing, the feeling like sunshine that lingered on the mind like sugar on the tongue.

"If…if it helps at all," Blaine commented, scrubbing a hand over his dark hair, "You seem like the kind of guy who's got his head on right. If you think what you're doing is good for you, then go for it. Your life's yours."

The laugh that tore its way from Kurt's throat was real this time around and for a few moments all he could do was giggle helplessly into his hands.

"I just wish I could make them understand. I've _missed_ them but I can't just do what they want to make them happy when…" _When it would break me._

"Makes sense to me."

"Turn left up here."

The rest of the trip was quiet, the only noises being the low rumble of Blaine's car. Eventually, they reached Kurt's block, then his street, then they'd pulled up to the front of his home.

"Can I…uh, walk you up?" Blaine asked with a cock of his head, sounding at once determined and not a little bit shy. Kurt flashed him a smile.

"Aren't you just the gentleman?" he replied, unfastening his seat belt and opening the car door.

"I do try; three older sisters and childhood threats of finishing school will do that to you. And your answer?"

"If you feel you must; never let it be said that Kurt Hummel is anything less than appreciative of good manners."

Blaine was true to his word and _was_ a gentleman, right up to the point that Kurt shot him a wary smile and bypassed the front porch entirely in favor of slipping around to the backyard. The TARDIS was right where it should be, nestled up against the fence in such a way that it couldn't be seen from the street. The other boy did an admirable job of not looking too confused when Kurt began to approach it.

"Vintage?" Blaine asked when they reached the call box, reaching out a hand to brush the wooden exterior. Kurt snickered. "This isn't your tool shed, is it?"

"Oh, you have no idea." He sobered. "I guess this is the end of the line."

"Guess so."

It was kind of amazing how one single human could do such an amazing puppy impression without even trying. Without sparing a thought as to what the hell had come over him, Kurt reached out a hand and patted Blaine on the cheek.

"I'm so glad I met you," he said softly, "You made the night bearable."

"Can I…" Blaine began, catching himself briefly and looking Kurt in the eyes, "Can I come say goodbye to you tomorrow, too?" _In case no one else shows up_ went unspoken and that was just fine with Kurt because he heard it loud and clear. Unexpectedly, his breath caught.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, you may. You have _very_ good manners."

"I do try," Blaine repeated, smile widening. He froze, standing stock-still when Kurt leaned forward to press a soft, barely-there kiss to his cheek.

"You, Blaine Anderson, are a wonderful boy. Please don't ever change."

And then Kurt was backing away, the TARDIS key dangling from its chain in his hand. He unlocked the door and slipped in like a shadow, closing it firmly behind him.

* * *

><p>The main control room was empty when Kurt entered the TARDIS, the door to the outside shutting like a finale. He considered just going to bed but decided instead to wander around and wait until morning because this too was one of those nights where sleep just wouldn't be happening. Most of the time he'd at least try but there would be no point tonight.<p>

Kurt bypassed his bedroom, the bright cherry door standing out stark against the metal of the halls, and he passed over the library and the kitchen, heading for the movie room instead. The sofa in there was heavenly and he'd be able to just sprawl out on it and the TARDIS had supplied an impressive collection of movies.

If he could just shut his brain off, he'd be set.

When he opened the door, however, it was immediately clear that he wasn't alone.

The back half of _Bringing Up Baby_ was playing on the screen and the Doctor and Rose were on the sofa, Rose passed out asleep and cuddling into the Doctor's side, the man with his arm slung easily around her shoulder. Kurt stopped in the doorway and the Doctor looked up at him instantly, completely awake.

"I thought you were going to be spending the night with your friends."

"Oh, uh…sorry," Kurt said, flushing a little bit even though it wasn't like he'd actually interrupted anything particularly _scandalous_, "Things kind of went south. I'll just go to bed—"

"Hold on a minute, no need to run off. Come over here," the Doctor beckoned him inside with a wave of the arm that wasn't absently running over the curtain of blonde that spilled over into his personal space, "What exactly do you mean by 'went south'?" Kurt obeyed and approached, settling onto a cushion and muffling a groan with his hands.

"They want me to stay."

"And you don't." That wasn't a question.

"No."

"Okay."

Kurt blinked.

"Okay? Just…okay?" he ventured, "It's okay if I…?"

"Okay means exactly what it means," the Doctor informed him, matter of fact as anything else, "You're smart, you can take care of yourself, and I like you. So okay. If I had to be completely honest, I was hoping you'd want to stick around with us."

"Is that why neither of you asked?"

"Eh, I can't speak for Rose but I thought it'd be best for you to make your own decisions. Humans tend to not like being managed, you know, they throw such a _fuss_."

Kurt smiled at him.

"I'm human, I think I know."

And then an arm had found its way around his shoulders and had tugged him closer. Rolling his eyes just a little bit, Kurt scooted over the rest of the way and twisted so that he was leaning up against him, the Doctor's arm around him a familiar anchor.

"Besides, what was it you said to me way back when? Hell and high water, was it?"

Kurt let his chin tuck into the Doctor's shoulder, the fabric of his suit familiar on his skin. For a while, he stayed quiet and let himself relax and give in to the comfort being offered to him. A jumble of words, a slew of questions were bouncing around in his brain and finally, he just opened his mouth and asked the first thing to come to mind.

"Do you think I'm running away?"

The Doctor blinked.

"Now what good would asking me that do? What matters is do you think that you're running away. I could talk for years about what I thought and it wouldn't matter because only you know if you are or not. So are you?"

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, soaking in the familiar smells and feelings like a sponge. A very anxious, melancholy sponge.

"There have never been very many things tying me to this town," he began, considering stopping by making himself continue, "My father and my friends, basically. And necessity. And now my father's gone and so is the necessity. I… I _love_ my friends here, but I don't know if that's enough. And being here, with you guys and the TARDIS and travelling around, seeing new things… I love it too. Part of me feels so _selfish _because I love them and don't want to hurt them, but… I don't remember a time since my mother passed away that I've been so consistently _happy_. Even if we get hurt and almost killed and spend more time fleeing than sight-seeing sometimes. Don't I get to be happy too?"

And that was the kicker.

In the years after Elizabeth Hummel's death, Kurt's happiness had become a gradient in shades ranging from hair's-edge-miserable to content. Happiness, real, blissful, shoot-it-out-of-the-ballpark happiness, had rarely even been on the page and now it was.

"There it is, then," the Doctor informed him, "Not so hard, was it?"

When had his eyes gotten wet?, Kurt wondered absently to himself. From the Doctor's other side, Rose shifted and sidled closer, draping a hand over his chest to experimentally bat at whatever part of Kurt she could reach.

"Hey, is Kurt back?" she murmured sleepily, half to herself, and Kurt grabbed her hand and squeezed, lacing his fingers with hers without thinking about it. "Welcome home."

Kurt's vision blurred.

"Yeah," he managed, "I'm home."

"Awww, aren't you two just adorable?" the Doctor teased, and Rose opened one brown eye to scowl up at him.

"I vote we squish him," she suggested and Kurt couldn't hold back the chuckle that the comment drew out of him.

"Oi, there will be no squishing –of anyone but especially me- in my TARDIS—"

"I agree," Kurt declared loftily, "I think he could use it. On three, one, two, three—!" Grin tugging at his lips, Kurt flung his free arm over the Doctor and proceeded to squish him, the man protesting all the while until he gave up and began to laugh, squirming away from where Rose had begun to twist her finger into his side.

"'Ey, stop that!" the Doctor protested futilely, "Stop that, Time Lords do not get squished!"

"This one does," Rose replied, sounding more awake than previously.

"Accept your fate."

"As what, a Time Lord sandwich?"

"Exactly," Kurt informed him. He was relishing the warmth and the opportunity to joke. "Now make it easy on yourself."

"Oh well, in that case," the Doctor quipped back sarcastically, pretending to struggle for a few moments before flopping over dramatically, firing off snippets from Hamlet's death speech. Kurt watched him, unmoved. For maybe two seconds and then he'd dissolved into giggles again, fueled by Rose's helpless laughter from the other side.

"Hey, think we can get a leopard? I love this movie."

"Rose, the TARDIS needs a leopard like Kurt needs another pair of shoes."

"So that's a yes on the leopard, then? I _always_ need new shoes."

"We are _not_ getting a leopard!"

It was good to be home.

* * *

><p>Kurt had gotten out of the habit of checking his phone but before he went to bed that night, he went out of his way to make sure he hadn't missed any messages.<p>

Aside from a completely random mashing of letters and a heart mark from Brittany, there was nothing, and Kurt felt his heart sink.

* * *

><p>That night, Kurt dreamed.<p>

It was a dream of what could be. He saw himself, five or so years in the future. He didn't think about high school, and he was successful at whatever his job was. He wasn't rich but he made enough to keep a nice apartment that fit him. He had a boyfriend, who was dark-haired, short, and suspiciously familiar, and they were happy together.

They had plans to get married and eventually adopt or have a surrogate.

He called Mercedes every week and lunched with Rachel on Mondays. They'd go shopping and he'd be appropriately fabulous and she still wouldn't be able to dress herself, and they'd laugh. She'd tease him about his relationship with Not-Blaine and he'd tease her right back about when she was going to marry Finn.

Around Christmas, he went home to Lima and his father and Carole met him at the door together and he ate cookies until he felt like he wanted to explode. The house was full of warmth and laughter and new pictures on the walls, pictures that included all four of them and everyone was so happy. He'd somehow end up cooking the entirety of Christmas dinner (as usual) and have to beat Finn into submission to keep him out of the pie.

He'd walk down the street and there would be a blue police box sitting on the corner and Kurt wouldn't pay it a single glance.

The blonde that passed him by wouldn't stand out at all.

Kurt saw the man with her and all he thought was that he had good taste in trenchcoats, nothing more. Handsome and possessing a good look but nothing special, nothing that stood out In Kurt's mind.

That man wasn't important because Kurt had to get home, to Blaine and to work and to his collection of scarves because he had a family and he was happy. Of course there was no such thing as time travel, don't be ridiculous.

Kurt didn't worry about wearing short sleeves; his arms were unblemished and he didn't have any qualms with showing them off.

Kurt turned thirty and his first child had just turned six. They went for a walk in the park (his little boy was tall for his age and bouncy, with blue eyes and chestnut hair that curled around his ears) and that was normal. They'd talk about school projects and the new words that he'd learned that week and how they ought to get a puppy.

He kissed his child on the forehead every night, even past the point that he turned sixteen and wanted nothing to do with such silliness. Not-Blaine (a lawyer or a doctor) would come in and kiss them both and they'd be mollified because he was the peacekeeper between two temperamental fireballs. Always the peacekeeper.

There were fights that left Kurt crying into his pillow that they always, somehow, made up from and came out stronger for it. There were gifts and dinners and dates and more arguments and just once, Kurt went home to stay with his father until he could cool down and make up.

Rachel and Finn got married, got divorced, and then got married again because she just _had_ to be dramatic like that.

Burt Hummel passed away when Kurt was fifty-seven and his heart still broke like nothing else, but he had people around him who could help and make him feel like the world wasn't going to come crashing down to cave in on his head.

And then just once, when Kurt was ninety-three and on his deathbed, he looked out his window and saw a man walking by, with wildly tousled hair and a brown suit and nerdy glasses and he walked with such confidence that Kurt was envious though not jealous, because Kurt was happy with his lot and didn't need anything.

Kurt had been happy.

* * *

><p>Kurt awoke with tears slipping down his cheeks because of all the nightmares he could have been given, he had to get the one with such a beautiful, impossible future.<p>

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><p>AN2: Thank you all so much for reading! Please, please leave a review if you're liking this; I like to know how many people are reading and all that jazz, plus, I won't lie that having my ego stroked makes me write faster.<p> 


	17. Maestro

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: YEAH, OKAY. So sorry for the delay on this baby! I hit a major roadblock and just didn't know what to do, but I actually officially finished this monster of a fic, even though the entirety isn't posted up anywhere yet. If anyone's actually stuck with me, THANK YOU. Your reviews and feedback and knowing that I had people waiting for me really helped me put on my writing pants.<p>

I've really been spoiled by you guys and I hope you continue to stick with me until the close.

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><p>Chapter Seventeen: Maestro<p>

* * *

><p>It was noon.<p>

They'd decided to leave at three but Kurt had been pacing absently outside the TARDIS for the last two hours, ducking in and out so many times that the Doctor had gotten frustrated and told him to pick one and stick with it, and he'd been standing out here ever since.

His phone had been silent all day and Kurt felt the almost constant urge to take it out of his pocket and check it. A useless gesture, but a habit he'd apparently picked up again.

What would he do if no one actually came? Would Blaine keep his word and come to say goodbye, at least? The answer to the first question was obvious. He'd do as he said he would and ask the Doctor to take off and they'd probably never come back to Lima again if all went as it should. And once again, he'd be separating from people he loved on bad terms, and he'd probably cry.

Probably a lot.

If Kurt was going to be honest, he'd probably be insufferable (in the bad way) for a good long while and drive everyone, including the TARDIS, absolutely bonkers.

Suddenly, there was the sound of someone wiggling the latch on the wooden gate and Kurt tensed.

The person who pushed it open and approached was possibly one of the last that Kurt would ever have expected if a betting man had asked him to make a wager.

Noah Puckerman peered into Kurt's backyard, tentative and hesitant and looking more out of place than Kurt could ever have imagined. He glanced around and the moment he caught sight of the TARDIS was obvious because his mouth dropped open and he cocked his head. Confusion was obvious but the nervousness… that was something that surprised Kurt even more than his presence itself.

"Oh, uh, hey," Puck called out when their eyes met and Kurt waved him over.

"Hi," was all that Kurt could find to say, watching the boy who used to toss him into dumpsters way back when look over the blue box leaning up against the fence. "You can touch it, she won't bite."

"This is…this is seriously a time machine?" Puck asked, reaching out a hand to stroke the blue wood, feeling it warm and solid under the pads of his fingers. Kurt nodded, brushing his bangs aside.

"Yes."

"But how do you all fit in it?"

"Bigger on the inside," Kurt replied, then adding, quietly, "Thank you for coming." The other boy shifted, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah, no problem."

They were quiet for a while until Puck spoke up again, voice low and solemn.

"I just… wow, this is kind of weird. I guess we've never actually spoken like...like friends, have we?"

No, no they hadn't. Amicably, yes. Jokingly, yes. But friends? Not really.

"This is going to sound really awful but I can't let you just run off without telling you…" the look on Kurt's face must have said something awful because Puck winced and backpedaled with a hasty, crookedly smiling, "No homo, I promise. I was just… you know, sure that you'd offed yourself. And that it would have been because of me. Why else would you have told me that you loved me? I know you sent it to everyone, but I just couldn't not think about how I treated you and all that. And I thought it was your revenge or something."

Kurt's jaw dropped and he went white. Puck rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"So I guess I've just kind of got to say thank you. For, you know, not. I know I've been kind of a super douche to you in the past and I really didn't get much of a chance to talk to you last night with all the crap that went down, and everyone except Brittany's hardcore pissed off at you for this. At least they were when we all left. But just… if this is what it takes to make you happy, you should go for it, you know? 'Cause you're a good dude and you deserve it."

Kurt's eyes were _not_ misting over. They were not. Absolutely, positively, not-in-a-thousand years. They couldn't possibly be, because under no circumstances was he going to be crying in front of Noah Puckerman.

"Puck, I—"

"No getting' mushy on me now, pixie. I know that Puckasaurus is awe-inspiring but try to hold it in, okay?"

A hand reached out, presumably in an attempt to rumple his hair and Kurt intercepted it with a gentle swat, narrowing his eyes at the boy who'd once towered over him.

"Don't even think it," he threatened, "I'll take your hand off. And don't call me pixie."

Puck chuckled.

"Still got teeth," he commented, scrubbing a hand over his mohawk, "Figured that out when you stabbed lying lizard through the head." Kurt shuddered.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Kurt replied with a grimace, "I'm still furious about that jacket."

"Yeah, well. You always were the most vicious and evil when your clothes were involved."

It was true.

"So everyone stayed mad at me?" Kurt approached, hesitation in his every line, "I mean, I'm not surprised. But still…"

Puck ducked his head.

"Not gonna lie, it was all pretty gnarly. But things calmed down after short-n-curly went after you. Mostly I think it's more hurt than angry and it's all just kind of coming out pissed. Pissed is easier."

Kurt let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and leaned back against the TARDIS, stretching out a little and tilting his head up to see the sky. The sun was bright and it was all so, so blue.

"It is, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, mentally tallying up all the times he'd negated sadness with fury, "I also could have, er, reacted better." Diplomacy only went so far and the look he got in return was deadpan, dry and completely unsurprised.

"No, really? Like we don't all expect dramatics from everyone else in this damn club anyway. It's kind of a prereq," Puck said matter-of-factly and Kurt stifled a snicker because if that wasn't the truest thing that had ever been spoken, he didn't know what was. "'Sides, you saved my ass. What would the world do without this?" He accompanied his words by patting his rear and making a sizzling sound between his teeth. Kurt rolled his eyes skyward and tried desperately not to smile.

"What a tragedy."

"Look, you've just got to come back and visit once in a while. Regularly, before we all get old and lame. That's my condition, you got it? And souvenirs, like something I can sell to make a motherload of cash."

"Argh, and you were on such a roll with saying something nice. Why'd you have to go and ruin it?"

"I can only get so schmoopy before my stomach starts rolling around. Schmoop's for wooin' and Puckzilla isn't wooing you."

"Super charming. Hard to believe that Rachel ever let you go," Kurt snarked loftily, before shooting the other boy a secretive smile, "Don't worry, your secret sentimentality is safe with me." He mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key, and this time he wasn't quite fast enough to dodge the hand gunning for his hair. Fingers threaded through for just a second and then Puck had turned away to walk back towards the gate.

"I'm holding you to our deal. Souvenirs, you got that, pixie? Something cool! See you around."

The bulkier boy didn't turn and Kurt was grateful because his eyes were _definitely_ watering now and he made a promise on his first day of high school that under no circumstances would he be crying in front of Noah Puckerman. Not now, not ever. Not when he was hit, not when he was tossed and teased, not even when he was saying goodbye to someone he never thought he'd be considering a legitimate friend. Not even then.

The gate swung open and then shut with a click.

Kurt sagged against the TARDIS just in time for the door to open a crack and Rose to peek out, glancing at him in concern.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked and Kurt covered his eyes with a hand. No crying. Absolutely no crying.

"Y-yeah," he replied, voice wavering just the tiniest bit, "Yeah, I'm okay."

"You wanna come back inside for a tick? Better than standing out there by yourself."

"No," he said quietly, "No. If it's all the same, I'd like to wait a little longer."

* * *

><p>It was 1:12.<p>

The gate swung open with a click of the latch and Kurt lurched upright, straightening and watching, bright-eyed, as the trio of cheerleaders stepped through to the backyard like they did it all the time. Quinn never stopped being queenly for a second and Santana walked like she ruled the world. Brittany, on the other hand, never even pretended to possess a single ounce of that decorum and rushed ahead of them, flinging her arms around him and squeezing tightly.

"Kurtsie, hi!"

"Hey, sweetheart," Kurt matched her tone with his own, light and breezy as if there had never been a doubt in his mind that they would have come, "How's it going?" He didn't receive a vocal reply but a physical one in the form of Brittany's lips on his. He rolled his eyes but kissed her back, just a few seconds before pulling away. No, he'd never be into girls like he liked boys but it always hurt Brittany's feelings when he pushed her away, even if he'd never gotten any physical kick out of it. A little weirdness was a small price to pay for making her happy.

"'Sup, Tink," Santana greeted, "You know the deal, I get anything Britt gets."

Snorting a little, Kurt shook his head and nonetheless leaned down to kiss her too, her lips soft and warm and female.

"Let's just get this out now," Santana shook her hair out, a dark and silky curtain that moved just like she did, sinuous and pliable. "I'm pissed that you're leaving. I'm pissed that you left. Don't say anything," she growled just as Kurt opened his mouth the respond, "I'm not done." Her face softened. "But I get why you did it and I get why you don't want to stay. Anyone with eyes can see why. So to hell with you, Tinkerbell, because I don't give a damn about you or your Doctor or all your snazzy adventures, you hear?"

Her voice didn't shake and her words came easily but the girl's brown eyes were just the tiniest bit glassy. Kurt dislodged Brittany to wrap his arms around Santana, gathering her up and pulling her close.

"You get me, Ladyface? I don't give a _damn_ about you." Despite the vehemence, there was a sniff that came from somewhere around Kurt's shoulder. "So go, because I don't _care_."

"Okay, Sanny," Kurt murmured into the top of her head, "Okay." Eventually, Santana pulled away and Kurt turned to Quinn, who had yet to say a word. She stood about five paces away, arms crossed over her chest, green eyes unreadable and mouth stony. "Got something to say, Q?"

"Yeah, yeah I do," Quinn answered, stepping closer and needlessly adjusting Kurt's collar as if she needed an excuse to reach out, "I really…_really_ wish that you'd stay. Everyone would be happier if you would. I know you're probably the most stubborn guy in the world and I know it's pointless to try, but I really wish you would anyway."

"Quinn…"

"So, since you won't, you're promising me the next best thing. You're coming back here and visiting. Regularly. None of this six month b.s. I know that I'm probably the only person who's going to set their pride aside and say this, but you _are_ coming back here to visit. Even if it's just to see the three of us, you're not abandoning us again. I don't speak for either of them but I know that I've been a really crappy friend in the past, and I'm trying to change that about myself. So you have to come back and see it." God, Kurt admired her ability to hide about everything she was feeling because there wasn't a chance that he would have been capable of saying such things so bluntly as if they were fact. Quinn's perfectly painted lower lip began to wobble just a little bit and Kurt barely had enough time to brace himself before she was dragging him into a fierce hug.

"Quinn, this isn't forever," Kurt breathed, "It's not. I don't know if I can promise you a time frame, but this goodbye isn't forever."

"Everyone would be happier if you stayed. Everyone; me, Finn, Rachel, Britt, Mercedes… everyone." She sighed and smiled, sad and edged, "Everyone but you, right?"

Kurt smiled back, just as sadly. She finally got it and it showed because only someone who understood could smile like that.

"I wish you could take one of us with you," she mused, "I don't know if I trust that Doctor guy; he's got a crazy look about him. And your Rose friend's hair color is fake as hell." Leave it to Quinn. "Take Britt, she's crazy enough to like time traveling. She'll fit right in."

Kurt snorted and shook his head. Brittany pouted at him.

"Sorry, not taking anyone with me. Doctor's TARDIS, Doctor's rules. Besides, I think Santana might have a little something to say about that."

"Damn straight I do, ain't happening."

"And there you have it," Kurt said with a wave of his hand. He took a step back. "Thank you, all of you. I'm so happy you came."

"Like I wouldn't say goodbye to you," Brittany scolded, wrapping back around him like a blonde, cuddly eel until combined efforts from both Kurt and Santana extracted her, "That's not very nice."

"For real, powder puff," Santana chimed, now completely dry-eyed and every bit herself, "Anyway, We're going to blow this popsicle stand before these two pudding hearts start bawling like babies." Quinn glared at her and Kurt resisted the urge to remind her just what she'd been on the verge of doing not a few minutes ago. He'd gotten so good at resisting lately and wondered, briefly, if maybe he ought to get himself a medal for it.

"Now, now," Kurt chided, "Don't take your carb deprivation out on others."

"Put a sock in it."

"You tell that Doctor that if he doesn't give you back in one piece, Quinn Fabray is out for blood."

Gulping a little, Kurt nodded and accepted Quinn's gentler embrace before the girl pulled away again. She smiled, soft and sweet like she rarely was otherwise. He received one more kiss each from Brittany and Santana and then he was alone once again, standing in the summer sun.

* * *

><p>"<em>You're not allowed to leave without keeping in touch."<em>

"_See you around, Blue Eyes."_

"_Souvenirs, I want them."_

"_Take care of yourself. It's enough if you're happy, yeah?"_

Tina, Mike, Artie, and Sam.

Rachel didn't show. Neither did Finn or Mercedes. Neither did Blaine.

It was bordering on 2:57 when Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head. He'd waited too long already. He'd wanted to say goodbye to them, to make up, to not go away angry. To start something new. Neither Rose nor the Doctor had said anything despite the fact that both of them had peered out of the TARDIS more than once to gauge the situation, only to pop back inside upon seeing the look on his face.

It had already been more than Kurt had expected.

He hadn't honestly expected anyone, much less the vast majority of glee club, but still… he'd hoped that Mercedes would come.

"That's that, then," he murmured lowly, under his breath. Not much point in sitting around and waiting for much longer.

His hand touched the sun-warmed blue side of the TARDIS and he realized that this was really going to be it this time. He might return to this time, but he'd never be returning to this house. Not if he could help it. He'd never set foot in this yard again. He'd never break in again through the back thanks to purposefully wiggly hinges.

Maybe someone else would move in, years from now. Maybe they'd clear out the things that had once meant everything to Kurt, re-paint, add on, renovate. Maybe this home would remain abandoned, the broken pieces of Kurt's life and family remaining where they were, gathering dust and time

There was a gravestone for Elizabeth Hummel, and her husband was buried next to her.

There wouldn't ever be one for Kurt.

He wouldn't be joining them here.

Not here. Not now. Not ever.

And then the gate slammed open, smashing with a clatter against the wooden, slightly worse for wear fencing that enclosed the backyard.

Kurt whipped around and had about two seconds of warning before a familiar figure slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding him tightly. Relief that he hadn't known he could feel washed over him like a sudden rainfall and he buried his nose in Mercedes' hair, hugging her back.

"Oh my god, 'Cedes, I thought you wouldn't—"

"Well, you know," her voice was muffled against his shoulder, "You and I have always been stubborn ones but you're the one who never gives in. I'd rather have you sometimes than never, as long as you'll have me."

Kurt pulled back, breathing shallow.

"You know I love you, right, Mercy?"

"Always, and I love you right back, Blue Eyes. Forever and _ever_ and I can be mad at you for doing this and still love you to pieces. And I don't want you to leave mad at me."

"I don't want to leave with you mad at _me_," Kurt countered, hugging her again because he just couldn't help it. He had to touch, had to breathe, had to _feel_, soaking in the love like a sponge and hoping in his heart of hearts that she could feel it radiating off of him in reply. The girl looked close to tears, her eyes suspiciously shiny but dry so far. "_Thank you_."

"Always, always, always," Mercedes told him, nestling her face in the crook of Kurt's neck, "You're mine and I'm yours and even if you're the Doctor's too now, it doesn't change anything. Just come back to me."

Kurt blinked furiously but the world was rippling like water in the wind and he wiped a hand briskly over his eyes, feeling moisture come with it. Damnit.

Mercedes was smiling at him, the smile that Kurt had always loved most about her, that had always been the absolute best of her. The girl wasn't watching him right that second though, instead gazing at something that he hadn't even noticed happening over her shoulder.

Blaine had just stepped through the still-open gate, gripping Finn by one wrist and dragging a heavily protesting Rachel by the other.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, wondering absently whether he was hallucinating or if the world was actually deciding to be nice to him for once.

"I'd wave but I've kind of got my hands full!" the boy shot back, scowling when Rachel glared at him and stuck her tongue out. "I don't care if you're still mad; you're going to be nice for at least five seconds to say goodbye. Quit behaving like babies." Kurt couldn't hold back the snort that ripped its way from his throat.

"It's okay, Blaine," he said lowly, "If they don't want to be here, they don't have to be." The shorter boy released Finn's wrist and focused on locking an irritated and resigned glower to Miss Rachel Berry.

Finn was shifting uncomfortably.

"Uh…look, dude," he started, words stammered and unsure, "I'm sorry. I'm still kinda mad, but I'm sorry for the things I said. They were low and you didn't deserve 'em."

Kurt softened and edged away from Mercedes to approach the taller boy who, in another timeline, might have become his brother.

"I'm sorry, too. Not so much for what I said, but… I reacted badly and could have taken it all better than I did." He smiled, wry and sheepish. "I do that sometimes. Puck said that drama was a prerequisite."

"If that means we're all drama queens, he's right," Finn muttered, scratching at the back of his head. "Look, I uh… well. The last time we talked, we were both pissed and I never really got to say anything that I wanted to. I just wanted to tell you that, um." The tall boy shifted, then smiled crookedly. "Welcome back and all that. If everything hadn't happened the way it had, our parents might have gotten married or something crazy like that. I hadn't really thought about it too much, but I kind of liked the idea of having a little brother."

"Well, I didn't do much thinking about it either," Kurt replied, "But I can't say that the idea of a brother is terribly repulsive, no. Even if you would probably leave your socks all over creation and driving me to kill you in the night."

"So I guess what I really want to say is that I'm going to try and be less of a douche because when you come back and see everyone, I want you to want to see me too. Mom always said that there's no point in fighting a wave, and that if you get ripped out to sea you should swim sideways instead of trying to swim against the pull. I don't know if I get all of it and I've never been to a real beach, but I guess that means that I shouldn't fight what I can't beat. I can't beat you wanting to get away from this world, so just come back and see me too."

Finn had always been taller than about everyone else but emotionally, Kurt had always, always thought of him as rather small, rather young. Before his very eyes that shifted just a little bit and Finn Hudson wasn't quite the slouching, people-pleasing little boy anymore.

"Absolutely yes, Finn Hudson, absolutely," Kurt said, intensely happy and feeling knots he hadn't known he had loosen from somewhere in his gut, "Yes." There was a lot he wanted to say, ranging from the admittedly insipid to the things that machismo adventure movie heroes might say. Instead, Kurt settled for "Thank you," with a smile tilting at his lips. A hand reached out and clapped him on the shoulder and Kurt wasn't surprised at all. No, his girls were the ones who hugged; the girls and Sam, who had come dangerously close to attempting to stow away on the TARDIS before the Doctor had popped his head out and shot him such intense stink-eye that the blonde had backpedaled almost immediately.

"Kurt Hummel." Rachel had shouldered Finn out of the way and parked herself directly in front of Kurt, arms crossed over her chest. Behind her, Blaine wore a helpless this-is-totally-not-my-fault expression. Kurt shrugged at him. Rachel had always been a force of nature, he couldn't really blame him.

"Rachel Berry, can I help you?" Kurt replied coolly, raising a single eyebrow at her.

"I cannot under any circumstances approve of your choices. I think it's irresponsible, unwise, and dangerous as well to go gallivanting all over who even knows where, running for your life at all turns and not even thinking about what you're going to do with your life. College, all your dreams? Are you even going to finish high school? I think you're being inconsiderate to all of us and to yourself and I can't understand why everyone was so furious last night and seem to have completely forgotten why they were angry in the first place." She paused and Kurt regarded her, his jaw clenching.

"Is that all?" he asked, trying to keep from getting snarly. It only half worked.

"No, no it's not."

Kurt resisted the urge to release the biting _it never is_ that he sorely wanted to throw.

Brown eyes that had never hidden how their owner felt looked him up and down.

"You're stubborn and you're so _hard_ on everyone and as much as I feel like I can understand most people in some respect, I don't think I've ever quite understood you. But you're also stronger than anyone I've ever known. Stronger and brighter and of course my only real competition in this town and that's partly why I hate for you to go –no one likes to lose a rival- but still. Why can't you stay? And be honest; I can take it."

Oh, Rachel. She tried so hard and came out contradictory to the very end. Kurt could never quite tell if he was being insulted or complimented.

He was flattered anyway.

"Honestly? It's not big enough. I might be ready to come back one day but right now, there's just too much to see and too much to do. And the Doctor? He can make it happen and I can _help_ him. I can do something good. I thought Broadway was the biggest thing I could ever reach out for, and it's not."

Rachel bit her lip, not quite mollified.

"And that's enough for you?"

"Yeah, it is. More than enough."

"Well, I hope you enjoy it and don't get yourself killed or something. I am going to beat you and shine like a star and there is not a chance in hell that I'm doing that before you can see it and be furious that you chose this instead, spending your days basking in regret."

Kurt thought that this might actually be the closest thing that abrasive, caustic Rachel might actually give to a blessing, though roundabout and kind of ambiguous. It was like speaking Jackie-ese only with fewer digs on her method of hair coloring and more bitchface. Less height, too.

"Thank you, then. If it makes you feel better, I don't think I've ever really understood you either. You and me, we're both more than our parts and people don't see it. But someone will. Maybe not me. I doubt I'll regret it when you're a star, but I definitely be there to see it someday. Shine on, but try to get the attitude under control."

Rose would probably have a few things to say about him talking to anyone about attitude, but that was neither here nor there.

He really would never understand Rachel because one moment she was glaring up at him and the next she was lurching forward and crushing him in a hug and not too seconds later was dragging Finn away. Kurt had the feeling that she probably couldn't even stand to look at him right then.

"You'll be keeping in touch or I _will_ hunt you down," Mercedes threatened, speaking up after they'd all given a collective flinch from the slamming gate. Someone needed to put the poor abused thing out of its misery. Kurt waggled a finger at her.

"Always."

One more hug and then Mercedes was pulling away from him as if it hurt her. She wasn't crying but it looked to be a close shave.

"I'll see you around, Kurt."

"Y-yeah. See you around, Mercedes."

Then it was just him and Blaine.

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><p>AN2: Again, thank you for reading! Please, please leave a review if you have anything to say to me, questions or comments or praise or slaps upside the head, I'm really not picky at all. We've got just two more chapters to go but the wait won't be anywhere near as long as the one for this.<p> 


	18. Coda

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you all for much for your reviews on the last chapter! I appreciate every single one of them.<p>

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><p>Chapter Eighteen: Coda<p>

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><p>"Hi," Kurt said, smiling crookedly and fighting the urge to scrub his eyes again. Blaine smiled back at him, raising a hand and waggling his fingers.<p>

"Hi."

"I wasn't sure you were going to show up."

"Well, I had to run a few errands. Rachel's the kind of person who jumps into things and regrets them later. It'll be worth it for her even if she's angry now."

"You're a good friend, Blaine Anderson." Glancing downwards to make sure he was going to sit in anything awful, Kurt settled himself down on the grass next to the TARDIS, absently stroking the warm side of the police box with a finger. Blaine didn't hesitate in sitting next to him, unable to keep from staring confusedly at the time machine.

"So, I can't help but ask. What's with the call box? I've only ever seen them in movies."

Kurt smiled, a secretive and cryptic thing.

"Classified."

"Should have seen that coming."

"Probably. I'll give you a hint, though, and it's up to you whether you want to believe it or not. How easily would you believe in time machines?"

For a good thirty seconds, Blaine remained silent, glancing from the TARDIS to Kurt, then back to the TARDIS, then back to Kurt again. Finally, he cocked his head to the side and just stared as if the world had just slotted into place.

"You know, I really shouldn't believe you at all because that might be the craziest goddamn thing anyone's ever told me. I probably ought to be freaking the hell out. But all I can really think s that it makes you make a lot more sense."

"Oh?"

"You're not…" Blaine hesitated then continued, "Scared the way you probably should be. Like you've seen scarier things than this world can offer and come out on top, so what the hell do you have to worry about now?"

That was a surprisingly apt depiction, actually. Briefly, Kurt's brain shot back to a darkened planet and being strapped onto a grimy table and a knife coming and the feeling of a pipe in his hands. When he checked, he found that he'd begun to rub his left arm, wrapped in white today to match his coat. That was a habit that he needed to stop; the whole point of the wraps was to divert attention from the scars, not draw it.

"I've never heard it put that way," Kurt commented dryly, "Most people would probably just say that I act like I've been through the wringer."

"They're just closed-minded."

"So, where are you—_when_ are you—?"

"I don't know, yet."

"Hell of a government job, eh? I hope they're paying you enough."

Kurt didn't have a clue as to whether Blaine even halfway believed that and suspected not, but wouldn't be the one to tell him the truth. Not right now.

"Yeah, hell of a job. Great benefits, though."

Blaine snorted quietly. They sat in silence for a period, Kurt gazing up at the summer sky and Blaine every so often shooting the other boy covert glances out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Kurt? Can I ask you something?" Blaine approached suddenly. Kurt laced his hands in his lap.

"You just did, but go for it."

"When you come back, you want to go get a coffee or something with me?"

Kurt blinked and opened his mouth the reply but no words came out. A flush of color was rising in Blaine's cheeks and he scrubbed at them with the heels of his palms as if that would make it go away. Well. That was not what he'd been expecting the question to be.

"I…uh. Really? Like, coffee-coffee or pity-coffee?"

"I don't know where the pity would come in, but in the name of laying it all out there, I'm talking a date. If you wanted, I mean!" Kurt didn't know how Blaine could possibly have gotten redder but he managed, with honors. "It wouldn't have to be a date if you don't like me or anything, I just thought that asking straight out would be better than singing an inappropriate song to you in public –I've done that, it didn't go well- and just… Well. I just feel kind of like a boy doesn't meet a guy like you every day. Okay, this is embarrassing and I'm _never_ this forward, just forget I said anything-" Blaine was cut off when Kurt rolled his eyes skyward and slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Would you let me answer before you start trying to read my mind, thank you very much?" he complained, leaving his hand where it was. If it had been anyone else, he might have expected an exasperated scowl (the Doctor) or a retaliatory lick on his palm (Rose). But Blaine wasn't anyone else and instead of doing either of those things he merely sat where he was as if spellbound, mouth covered and watching Kurt as if he'd never seen anyone quite like him. A wry smile found its way to his lips. "I can't tell you now when I'll be back. It might be a few weeks. It might be a few months. I can try my best but it doesn't always work out the way it should… but yes. Yes, I'll go on a coffee date with you."

An idea that he hadn't been able to make himself consider for the longest time began to fester in his mind and Kurt reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

"Give me your phone? I can ask the Doctor to fix it so that you can get in touch with me. And obviously, vice versa. Then I can at least let you know."

Kurt uncovered Blaine's mouth when the other boy's eyes lit up. Phones were traded, numbers exchanged, and Blaine insisted on humming some monstrosity of a song by Katy Perry until Kurt was forced to throw a handful of grass at him. It was self-defense and he'd be sticking to his story to the end, and it was especially worth it to watch Blaine dig through his hair to try and get the blades out. It was even worth the handful he got flung back at him, even if the second shot had been pulled up with the roots and dirt attached.

"Is it hard?" Blaine asked suddenly, his hair thoroughly mussed. Kurt's cheeks were pink from laughter.

"Is what hard?" he asked in reply.

"Leaving this place."

Kurt exhaled softly, brushing his bangs aside with a hand.

"Yes…and no. Leaving my friends, hurting them again? It's harder than anything. Part of me still thinks that it would be easier if they all hated me because love can hurt worse than anything else in the world. But I know that if they did, I'd feel even worse because it doesn't matter how they feel because I still love them. A part of me wants to stay because that little part of me wants to delude itself into thinking that things can ever go back to the way they were. You know, finish school, apply to college, become famous, move on with life. Just forget that any of this ever happened. But it can't and I won't. I just won't. So yeah, it's hard. But at the same time, it's been one of the easiest decisions I've ever had to make. I just want everyone to do their best, make the best, _be_ the best, even if I can't and won't be there all the time." Kurt blinked and furrowed his brows when Blaine's expression flickered. "What? Is that weird?"

"No, no," the shorter boy stammered, looking flustered, "Not at all. You're just…_amazing_, is all. You're just really amazing."

Kurt sobered and his smile twisted a little, going soft and just a little bit sad. He dragged in a breath. It was time, wasn't it? The longer he drew this out, the worse it would feel and the longer it would hurt and right now, he was all too aware of just what he was leaving behind this time. A vision from last night's dream, tucked away safely in a mental file cabinet, came to mind. Kurt, older and steadier, looping his arm with a man who couldn't be anyone but Blaine.

"Hey… I think I need to go now." Kurt's words came quietly but they fell as heavily as an anvil, dropping between them like a glass wall. Hazel eyes shuttered.

"Yeah, okay," Blaine said dejectedly. They both stood, Kurt brushing himself off mostly out of habit. "I guess this is goodbye, then?" Kurt tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"Guess so."

And then Blaine had apparently decided to be bold and follow the lead of the people who'd left before, stepping forward and wrapping Kurt up in a hug before he could so much as protest, squeezing firmly.

"I'll see you around, Blaine Anderson," Kurt murmured into his shoulder, giving in just the slightest bit to nestle his nose into the crook of the other boy's neck before forcing himself to pull away. He didn't want to watch him walk away. He didn't want to see what Blaine's back looked like, walking away from him. "I'm going to close my eyes, so if you could just…not be here when I open them, that'd be…that'd be best." He didn't want to sound harsh or cruel. There wasn't a nicer way to say it, not without admitting the fact that he'd gotten just a little more attached than he wanted to be. It'd be less painful to close his eyes and not face someone he was going to miss when he opened them.

Eventually, Blaine nodded.

"Don't forget, though. I want to treat you to coffee and in exchange, you give me enough stories to make my head explode."

"Deal," Kurt replied, and eyes the color of the summer sky closed tight.

He heard a single footstep backing away from him, then no more.

"I'm keeping quiet 'til the phone stops ringing," he began to sing, the lyrics coming easily as if he'd rehearsed them, "Lately it's hard to disconnect, I just want something real. I've found the words if I could just stop thinking… the room is spinning, I have got no choice. Be patient, I am getting to the point." Kurt kept his eyes clenched insistently closed.

There was one more footstep, then another, Blaine's shoes crushing on the overgrown grass.

"I can't remember when the earth turned slowly so I just waited with the lights turned out again. I've lost my place but I can't stop this story, I've found my way but until then I'm only spinning."

The gate clicked shut and Kurt opened his eyes, blinking blearily against the sunshine.

He was alone in the backyard, alone save the TARDIS, the last Time Lord, and a girl from six years ago. Resting a hand on the TARDIS, he could feel her hum to him through the warm blue walls and the façade of a police box. He barely had to push the door open before he was practically falling through it, bumping up against a familiar figure.

The Doctor was on the other side of the control room, fiddling with something or other so intently that he couldn't not be paying attention to what was going on. Kurt had bumped into Rose, who scrutinized him fixedly, brown eyes unashamedly worried.

"Hey, are you going to be all right?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Kurt replied, preemptively wiping at his eyes. They were dry for now but he couldn't deny that the goodbyes had worn him out emotionally and all he really wanted to do was stagger into his bedroom and sleep until he didn't feel quite so low. "Just a few too many goodbyes. I'll be okay. I'll be okay, I promise. I just didn't think that it would hurt so much."

"What do you need?" Rose asked, insistently. Without thinking about it, Kurt reached out and took her hand, wrapping his larger fingers around hers and squeezing briefly, feeling bones and muscle and skin and warmth beneath his own. "Kurt, what can I give you to help make this better?" Kurt laughed tightly, an airy sound like bells.

"Just," he wasn't going to cry, he wasn't, he _wasn't_, "Just don't say goodbye to me yet. I can't take it."

"Okay," Rose said easily, reaching up to cup his cheeks in her palms. The Doctor was _definitely_ watching now, his own eyes fixed on the two of them. He wasn't even pretending to work anymore. "Hello, Kurt Hummel. Welcome home." The laugh that ripped its way out of him was choked and halfway towards a sob, and Kurt couldn't help leaning into her hands, "No more goodbyes for you. Welcome home."

There was a scraping noise on the grating and Kurt realized with a start that the Doctor had approached the pair of them, reaching out a hand to ruffle Kurt's hair, fingertips threading through chestnut strands and letting his thumb brush over his temple. There was no hesitation in the gesture, no thought or premeditation to it and Kurt wondered when he'd managed to go weeks without physical contact to being touched and rumpled indiscriminately. He hadn't forgotten what it felt like to essentially be a social leper and there wasn't anything in the world that he would trade that away for. Not now and not ever.

"Doctor?" Kurt asked and could practically feel the man smiling, though he didn't look away from Rose to make sure. The look in her eyes though, when they flicked over to him, told him more than he needed to know about it.

"Welcome home, lad. I'm thinking somewhere with a beach next. Peaceful, maybe with some of those ridiculous drinks with umbrellas that you two can't get enough of."

"Sounds wonderful. Land us next to a shopping mall and I think you've found paradise."

"Yeah, especially since you owe us a leopard."

"I owe you no such thing!"

"An ocelot, then. We can still name it Baby."

"No! We're going to the beach and you're going to like it and under no circumstances will a leopard be setting paw into this TARDIS."

"Don't you think the TARDIS wants a leopard? You ought to ask her."

"No!"

VWORP-VWORP-VWORP.

The blue box faded.

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><p>AN2: Please leave me feedback if you liked this or even if you hate it and want me to die in a hole. Though, considering that this story is eighteen chapter, you've probably done a lot of reading for hatred. :D<p> 


	19. Da Capo

Limits

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><p>Summary: Taken from a prompt on the Glee Angst Meme. Burt Hummel's dead, Kurt Hummel's doing his best to stay under the radar of Child Services, and the bullying is quickly bringing him to the end of his steadily shortening rope. The tiny, unused razor in the jewelry box seems to agree with that assessment. So it is really any wonder that when he catches sight of a blue police box left open just a crack that he would run inside?<p>

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><p>Disclaimer: Nope. No, no, no.<p>

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><p><strong>Very Important Author's Note:<strong> So, kids, this is the last chapter of this fanfic. Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites, alerts, all that good stuff. BUT. It's not over yet.

I am taking **ONE-SHOT REQUESTS** for this universe. If there's something you wanted to see but didn't? Shoot me a review about it and if it fits with my headcanon, I might give it a shot. It can be anything, a scene from the future, scene that might have happened in the past, anything.

**Except** for this: do not request Blaine hopping along in the TARDIS. It's not happening. Ever. So please just don't ask.

On with the show!

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><p>Chapter Nineteen: Da Capo<p>

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><p>The beach idea goes well, at least until a craft flies overhead and starts dropping bombs that explode into blue slime. Rose ducks behind the Doctor's thrown coat just in time but Kurt ends up covered in the stuff, furious and sticky and smelling vaguely of rotting roses and no one sees him for the rest of the day because he's in the shower, trying to scrub himself back into normalcy. It sticks <em>everywhere<em>, to his skin and to his hair and the smell lingers even after the slime is gone.

Rose tries to show some sort of tact but the Doctor doesn't even bother, howling with laughter for a good hour and exacerbated by the fact that if he listens hard enough and the TARDIS is feeling nice, he can hear Kurt swearing furiously from the bathroom.

Kurt will never be able to enjoy roses after that (not that he was in love with them from the start, too cliché for romance and too sickly sweet for pleasure) and it will be a long time before he doesn't recoil every time a street vendor tries to sell him one.

The Doctor tries to reason with the creatures dropping bombs, disturbingly cheerful fellows with orange skin and penchant for practical jokes but it's Kurt who makes the most diplomatic progress, stepping forward and making it clear _exactly_ how he feels about their jokes complete with hand waving, threats of bodily harm that may or may not be physically impossible for him to accomplish, and unadulterated, rose-scented-and-still-incredibly-sticky fury. In truth, it's not so much diplomacy as it is scaring the culprits out of their minds but it works better than anything the Doctor says so he lets it drop.

He knows to pick his battles and when the kid's that ticked off?

Well, better them than him. He'll watch from _allllll_ the way over here, preferably behind some sort of impenetrable barrier.

Nice Doctor? No. Bad Doctor? Maybe. Sane Doctor? _Definitely._

In the end, the pranksters are cowering and handing over a bottle of liquid that will (theoretically) get rid of the smell and Kurt nods imperiously like a benevolent king who's just been kind enough to spare them from a death sentence, never mind the fact that his apparent subjects have guns and he's a fabulous teenage human from the 21st century. The Doctor just barely manages to not dissolve into laughter as they watch them trip over themselves to leave and escape Kurt's still-angry glower but the moment they're out of earshot he's gone again, half hysterical and near tears.

It's worth promising a visit to Paris for Fashion Week for being able to keep the mental image of the kid verbally eviscerating a group of people who have at least three feet on him in height.

When Kurt finally smells like every shower gel in the bathroom and not a single hint of moldy flowers, he's infinitely more pleasant to be around even if the Doctor's nose gets the runaround because seriously, mango and white linen? Weirdest scent combination _ever_ and not in a bad way.

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><p><strong><em>To: Mercedes Jones<br>Sent from: Kurt Hummel_**

_Guess who got his phone fixed up and ready to go?_

**_To: Kurt Hummel  
>Sent from: Mercedes Jones<em>**

…_I'm seriously considering killing you right now. Your PHONE, boy? Seriously? And how the hell is this even working?_

**_To: Mercedes Jones  
>Sent from: Kurt Hummel<em>**

_No idea. Don't think too hard about it. Do I get survival points for my texting plan working through time and space?_

**_To: Kurt Hummel  
>Sent from: Mercedes Jones<em>**

_I guess you can stick around for now for being so considerate. :) When are you right now?_

**_To: Mercedes Jones  
>Sent from: Kurt Hummel<em>**

_We're on the way to go hang out with Caesar before Cassius and Brutus off the crap out of him. Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be for me to not tell him "beware the Ides of March"? Let me tell you though, I look AMAZING in a toga._

**_To: Kurt Hummel  
>Sent from: Mercedes Jones<em>**

_You know what I said about hating you? It stands, you just made me spit out half my water in math class._

**_To: Mercedes Jones  
>Sent from: Kurt Hummel<em>**

_That is unbelievably erotic. Just like me in a toga. Hold on, let me send you a photo._

**_To: Mercedes Jones  
>Sent from: Kurt Hummel<em>**

…_Mercedes?_

**_To: Kurt Hummel  
>Sent from: Blaine Anderson<em>**

_Nice toga, Kurt. Very classy._

**_To: Blaine Anderson  
>Sent from: Kurt Hummel<em>**

…_oh my god._

**_To: Mercedes Jones  
>Sent from: Kurt Hummel<em>**

_You are dead to me, Mercedes. Dead._

**_To: Kurt Hummel  
>Sent from: Mercedes Jones<em>**

_You'll thank me later._

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><p>It's not weird for the lot of them to get wrapped up in the local cultures of the places they stop by, it's really not. It might be the Doctor needling his companions into consuming a ceremonial dish made of some pea-green meat in celebration of the spring solstice or the lot of them running for their lives thanks to either chance or… well, mostly chance. Or as Kurt liked to say in between breaths, his own bad luck.<p>

Point is, it's really, really not that weird.

So honestly, Rose isn't all that surprised that the Doctor parks the TARDIS on a planet that just happens to be smack dab in the middle of an autumn festival, with feasting and dancing and kind, welcoming people who don't really seem to care where they've come from. Not a conspiracy to be found, no mysterious murders, and to Kurt's immense relief, no floral slime being dropped from the sky. It's a relief to Rose too because as amusing as it is to watch the boy fly off the handle, she likes him much more when he's happy.

The Doctor graciously (and eagerly) accepts the village's offer to join the festivities; everyone seems to be in too good of a mood to really think about the mechanics of the three strangers landing a police box in their village. Rose doesn't complain though because someone's handing them all plates and shooing them towards the long, low-slung tables and the smells coming off of them are _amazing_. Not even Kurt can keep from bouncing as he loads his plate up with everything that strikes his fancy, and Rose has never eaten anything that tastes so much like chips but looks so awful.

It's like pea soup, though; just close your eyes and don't think about it too hard.

It's not long before Rose is striking up a conversation with a local woman and can't resist asking if she can touch her hair, wound like long, snaking dreadlocks but softer than satin. The Doctor's off somewhere but she can pick out Kurt in the crowd, surrounded by a throng of kids who seem fascinated with his voice and his bright clothing.

Rose turns back to her own company and the last few bits of her meal, and when she looks up again, Kurt's looking flustered and kind of embarrassed but rather pleased and that is an unbelievably odd combination for him as he's tugged by the wrist up to what appears to be a stage in a plot of open space. The area didn't look like it had been prepared at all, covered in a thick coating of autumn leaves.

A large, bulky guy stands next to him and beams out to the crowd, all of whom seem to know exactly what's going on. Kurt just shifts a little and Rose knows that it's nerves and not because of the cold, despite the brisk wind. He doesn't look upset, though, and suddenly the Doctor's at her shoulder, watching the goings on with a curious and attentive eye.

"Now that we have all sated our stomachs-"

Thank you, dear TARDIS, for your ability to translate.

"It's time for the next –and best!- part of the festival! You all know what's coming, and this year one of our visitors has agreed to take part! So get up, come over here, and give him a welcome."

Rose still doesn't know quite what's going on but there's not a chance in hell that she's going to miss it, not when everyone else is running forward like it's going out of style and the Doctor looks like he's going to start laughing.

"What's going on?" she asks and all he does is shake his head, a smile splitting his lips.

"Unless I'm quite mistaken, our dear friend has gotten himself talked into showing off his vocal prowess, judging from the instruments and stage. No idea what they expect from him, though, considering. Somehow, I don't think anything in his repertoire is the norm for a fall celebration."

There aren't any microphones but they don't need any; Kurt's voice can be heard throughout the clearing, soaring over all the other ones.

"Hi!" he calls out, just the slightest hint of embarrassed color swashed across the apples of his cheeks, "Sorry if I look a little shaky, I'm not really used to performing in front of a crowd…" He's not thinking about it but his hand absently starts tapping a beat out on his hipbone and the drums follow, their sound akin to bongos and taiko by turn. "I don't really know what you guys are used to but this is one of my favorite songs. I know I'm no Dean Martin, but I hope you like it anyway. I'm dedicating it to two of the best people I know, riiiiiight over there," He doesn't name them but he gestures with his hand and Rose finds herself the object of much observation, much to her dismay.

"I'm going to kill him," she mutters, "He's dead. So dead."

"Now, now. Don't kill him quite yet," the Doctor leans down and whispers in her ear, "At least wait until you hear what he's picked. If it's a joke, then you're free to kill him as you will."

"When marimba rhythms start to play," Kurt sings, voice strong and powerful and smooth as glass, "Dance with me, make me sway," The drums follow his beat and unconsciously his body begins to swing from side to side with the music, "Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more," The leaves crunch under his feet and the rest of the locals are following him too, dancing and grooving despite the fact that this is probably the least ceremonial song they've ever heard and Rose can't help but think that it looks like so much fun.

"Hey," she proposes, sidling closer to the Doctor, "You ever heard the phrase "when in Rome"?"

"Rose Tyler, I practically invented that phrase."

"Then you should know exactly what it means."

"But we're not in Rome."

"This look like a face that cares? Be a man and come dance with me," Rose doesn't really know what's gotten into her but she reaches out and grabs the Doctor's hand and tugs him forward. He protests, loudly and embarrassingly but she knows that if he really didn't want to, he was more than capable of breaking away. He complains and fidgets and looks uncomfortable but they both look up and Kurt's watching them, eyes bright and excited and _god_, he belongs on that stage.

"Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease," It really doesn't seem to matter that mambo's clearly a new thing for the locals because they've all gotten into it, "When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me," The fact that he hasn't practiced or prepared doesn't seem to stop him all that much, and Kurt's pulling from old Cheerios routines and Glee performances up there on that stage, bouncing around and spinning and generally looking like he's having the time of his life. Rose hears a sigh and the Doctor shifts to take her hand properly.

"When in Rome…" he mutters and Rose giggles because he's got his concentrating face on like he's trying desperately to remember something. "What? This is a fine sight, Rose Tyler, laughing at your dance partner." With his free hand, he waggles a finger at her.

"Oh, nothing," she replies, letting him migrate the both of them into an open space, "Just wondering whether you actually know how to dance this time around."

He huffs and glares at her, placing her free hand on his shoulder with more force than absolutely necessary.

"I am a perfectly capable dancer in this form—I think," he amends with a wry little smile, "Does it matter that much?"

"Nope," Rose answers and squeezes her hand in his, the area between the small of her back and her hip warm where his right hand sits almost shyly, "Not a single, little bit."

"Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have that magic technique, when we sway I go weak. I can hear the sound of violins long before it begins, make me thrill as only you know how, sway me smooth, sway me now…"

No, he's not perfect. But it's not like she's all that much of an expert and who really cares in the end? How often does something like this come around? She gets her dance and Kurt gets his stage and she doesn't really know what the Doctor gets but he looks happy anyway.

Rose doesn't know how long Kurt sings and she doesn't know how long she and the Doctor dance but by the time they stop, all the lights in the sky are out but the stars and Kurt's voice is beginning to fade and her feet feel like they're going to revolt and fall off any second now. They all collapse rather than walk into the TARDIS and Kurt threatens to just lay down on the floor and sleep there and be the biggest pain in the morning because you know what? He doesn't even care anymore. Take that.

The threat would be just a little more intimidating if he actually had some voice to work with instead of the whistley rasp he's got going on right now.

Talk about a hell of a party.

"I'm not kidding."

"That is a lie and you know it," the Doctor shoots back at him, grinning shamelessly mostly in response to Kurt looking like he wants to strangle him, "You have to get to your bathroom and do your face thing and if you try to make it back from your room to here, I think you'll die on the way."

Kurt just glares at him. There is a threshold of sleep deprivation where everything in the world is funny. She and Kurt have gone so far past that threshold that they've come full circle and now everything in the world is annoying. The Doctor's excessive cheeriness and the fact that he's kind of hopping around like he's had the best sleep of his life is _not_ helping matters.

"Will not," Kurt mutters resentfully, looking so much younger than his nineteen years as he rubs his eyes.

"I beg to differ."

"I beg for you to be quiet and leave me to my exhaustion, maybe find yourself a short pier on the way."

"I beg for you to—"

Rose interrupts.

"_I_ beg for the both of you to shut up," she growls out between gritted teeth. No, she's not tired and on the knife's edge of cranky from partying for over eighteen hours because the locals seem to have gotten attached to them somewhere along the way. Whyever would you think that? Don't be ridiculous. "I'm going to bed where _normal_ people belong. _You_ two can stay out here and behave like babies; nineteen or nine hundred, you're acting like you're about five."

When Kurt's gotten enough sleep and can process information properly, he'll note that Rose is improving her irritated, flouncing storm-out. Not quite to the level of Miss Berry, but impressive nonetheless considering that she doesn't get much practice. At that moment, though, he's tired and his head aches and his throat aches and his feet ache, and all he can do is exchange a surprised and altogether bemused look with the Doctor as the door slams.

"Think she's tired?" he asks and the Doctor snorts, reaching out a hand to clap him on the shoulder.

"To bed with you too, lad. I believe that you're beginning to sway on your feet and unless you're hearing a song that I'm not, that would be an indication that you're about ten seconds away from dropping where you stand. So off with you."

It's clear that Kurt's still rather irrationally grouchy but he obeys anyway, heading for the door and grumbling all the while. The Doctor shakes his head.

"Do make sure you actually get to bed in one piece, the TARDIS hates it when people pass out in her hallways—okay, now that was just unnecessary!" he protests when Kurt flips him a rude hand gesture and continues on his way.

* * *

><p>Kurt's known for a very long time that he's been around the bend for longer than he's ever going to admit seriously and while not under the influence of alcohol. Really. He has.<p>

Most of the time, he can ignore it.

Schmooze with the natives, sample the local cuisine, and con the Doctor into the shopping district. Occasionally, they end up in the red light district instead by accident and back away _very_ quickly indeed but usually not quickly enough to avoid catching the attention of the hookers. That's pretty awkward but easy enough to get over.

What's not all that easy to get over is how easily he slips into running-for-our-lives mode from chill-out-and-be-merry mode. He should start timing that transition, it's that good. That's not the worst part, though. The worst part, by far, is that the running is actually kind of fun. It's not fun in that there's the risk of imminent death, but those are the times that he's most aware of what he's doing, where and when he is, and just how amazing the whole thing is.

He mentions it once and no one acts like he's crazy. Rose closes her eyes and nods a little as if she knows exactly what he's talking about and the Doctor shrugs at him because really, what does he expect? It takes a certain kind of person to take on the TARDIS and Kurt's known that all along even though he's never really thought too hard about what it means.

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel's never been lucky and he feels like a lot of his life has been a series of Christmas gifts that he never wanted.<p>

He didn't ask to be gay, didn't ask to spend his entire adolescence looking short and pretty and kind of like an eleven year old girl. He didn't ask to be a target for almost all of his peers, didn't ask for his mother to succumb to the disease that took her from him and his father. He didn't ask for resilience, for his bad temper, for his persnickety attitude about his clothes. He didn't ask for society's intolerances.

He didn't ask for the fight with his father, or Burt's heart attack, or his death and the subsequent depression and temptations of suicide that followed it.

He didn't ask for the loneliness and the feelings of drowning and being forced into a situation he was far too young to be able to safely handle.

He didn't ask for the Doctor and his time machine and encouragement or Rose and her persistence, her good nature, her friendship. He didn't ask for the Doctor to care for him or for the chance to become someone better, braver, brighter. He didn't ask for the opportunity to be able to return that caring.

He didn't ask for goodbyes or returns or days of partying, for long distance text messages and photos and words of love. He didn't ask for Blaine or for the boy to be someone that he could forge what would most likely be a permanent bond with.

He didn't ask for grief, for love, for laughter, for tears and screams and blood and beauty because he didn't have to. They were his to keep come hell, high water, and a Time Lord who didn't know how to fold his own socks.

Kurt Hummel's never been lucky, but he's never needed to be.

* * *

><p>AN2: Thank you so much for sticking with me all this time! Please leave your comments in a review or any ideas for one-shot requests! All of them will be posted as separate stories to this account, so please check back one in a while.<p> 


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